Some nights
I stand on stage
And read lines I have written
Lend my soul to strangers
And hope they enjoy it for the hour
I look out from blackness
To a crowd of many faces
But none of them
Are for me
Afterwards
I step out to greeting hands on shoulders
Smiling patrons with admiring words
But none of them
Are familiar
None of them
Are for me
I do not invite
Those I love
And the ones I do invite
Never come
Because they don't really love me at all
I do not invite
Those who do
To come watch me dissolve
Underneath these bright lights
I do not spill myself out
To those who already know what lays inside
My poetry is a blanket for everything ugly
And there is no need
To place it on those who have already seen what is underneath
Some nights
I am saddened by this
By entertaining a crowd that knows nothing more
Than my name and writing
Yes they have seen me bleed
And to them,
It is nothing more
Than an act
But there is no clotting after the show
No army of white blood cells to end the spillage
It is just me
Along with the remnants of what I've poured out that day
What people often forget
Is that my words follow me home
Some nights
I share them with others
But most nights
I keep them to myself
And every night
They stay with me
Sleep in my bed
The only good is in the reassurance
Of knowing they will be there
In the morning
Unlike every other
Who has left after the ******
Everyone
Always leaves
And I am afraid
That if I wring myself empty
To those who already love me
They will do the same
I do not know
How to clean up my mess with pride
I only know
How to sweep it aside
So for now
I will continue
To stand on stage
And read lines I have written
Lend my soul to strangers
And hope they enjoy it for the hour
I know they will
My performance
Is their escape.