they say
"i don’t get it."
as if the words I write are puzzles
and not seances
with the bones of my childhood.

they want metaphors that purr,
not ones that bleed.
Many don't like
teeth in the fruit.

my poems are not
for mouths that chew politely.
they are for those
who’ve sat inside silence
and still carry
the shape of the scream.

Writing is the equvalent of
plucking out the wires
stitched into my throat
and spelling out
a map
for anyone who’s ever felt
too much
to speak.

so no,
you don’t have to get it.

this was never for the ones
who only read
with their eyes.