Do I pretend to write “poetry,”
or am I spilling the feelings of my heart,
the thoughts that rise uninvited
like waves against my mind?

Do these lines dress themselves in rhyme
to impress the ear—
or are they the raw threads
of truth I dare not speak aloud?

Sometimes I don’t know if I’m crafting words,
or if the words are crafting me—
pulling from a place so deep
I only find it when I close my eyes.