People who fight
their battles alone
either lose the battle
or lose themselves.

isn't it odd
how we can know
human nature
well enough
to write poems
that move others
to tears
yet must hear
the words of others
to cry
alone
.

There are 10 kinds of people in this world,
and binary accounts for them all.

They're happy and sad.
They're ones and zeros.
Villains and heroes.
Villains, yet not all bad.
Despite everything life decides to hurl;
Despite every brick ball of fear
Through the stained glass windows of their minds,
Through it all, they survive.
They're angry and glad.
They're happy and sad.

And in their duality, they're still smiling there
at your sharp hasty words
at your venomous hurt
that you wish so desperately they, too, shared.

And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.

And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.

Pity the fool who does
not believe words can
change lives