just now
I remembered
why I like
writing

times now
are so intrusive

everybody knows
but I’ve got nothing
to hide

there’s no effort
in being myself

but then the poem comes along
the person who really wants to
know what I think

everybody else,
they just want the dirt,
the scandal, the drama,
they don’t want the truth
unless it gives them five
minutes of entertainment
and a charred husk of a
person to mock after their
done

but the poem,
you that wonderful
person,
comes up to me and
says:
“I’m all ears”

so I tell her,
tell her my thoughts,
good and bad,
the truth, the lies,
the questions, the doubts
and she listens
but very seldom
does she answer
in her own voice

no,
she prefers to answer in silence
finding that I will solve my own
crisis more often than not

and that’s why I like her,
she is wise without ever
saying anything, and each
day we talk a little bit seeps
into me with the more words
I bring into the world