I don't know if anyone would understand if I told them how I feel,
A clear explanation is something I long to have.
I'm hardly ever honest, especially with myself,
But I realized there is one I could anyways be honest with.

One who accepts my lies and my truth, whichever I wish to share.
One who has no expectations other than that I be myself.
One who indulges in my vices and virtues.
One who has known me all these years.

One who is there when the tears fall,
One who is there when my lips stretch into a smile.
One who is warm comfort in the frigid night,
One who soothes my burning rage with a cool kiss.

One who connects me with millions holding but a pen,
So that I never feel truly alone.
One who captures my thoughts when they slip through my fingers.
One who treasures every syllable in every word, and sentence, and line.

One who takes many forms, but in all of them is there for me.
One who treasures the power of the tongue,
Yet the only one who heard my cries when they fell silent on human ears.
One who harbors the weakness to express my emotions,
When I can't find the strength to say a word.

This is the one who is a savior to my tender heart.
Her name is Poetry.