some stories deserve to be flaunted
but some storytellers prefer to keep them safe
of stories where the darkest parts
are hidden in everyone's everyday lives
yet we never seem to notice
a single word
a single touch
the barest of bare whispers
they may one day spin a complicated story
even though they'll never be told

have you ever heard the story of
how a sad girl threw her blades away?
"don't cut," he had said, "put those away"
and she had listened because she was happy
"i'll only allow you," he had smiled, "one cut"
and she'd asked him what he meant
"but only if you think i've made you sad"
he had been so confident
but of course there had to be an ending
the story ended with one cut
(a life ended with one cut)

have you ever heard the story of
the star serenading the moon?
with a hopeful heart and fiery passion it
sang songs of love
to a naive moon whose face turned to the sun—
to a moon with a captured soul

and some people do question
what purpose do stories even serve?
aren't they merely fictional tales
spun from one's deepest heart's desire?
this is one problem that we face
we believe in the lies
but refuse to face the truths
aren't our hearts so deep in denial
let me ask you, can you breathe?

with every single breath we draw
a new story is finished
it only depends on us if we want it to be known
or it'll only stay in the depths of consciousness
and no one will ever ask
we can tell stories in the form of poems
or a bedtime lullaby

but storytellers we are
because the endings lie at our fingertips
and we are the ones
who will choose which finger to point

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