My Poems Spoke To Me

You can’t return us

Blow us off

because we are not a gust of wind

We are the rain that never quite evaporated

The kind that fills rivers and oceans and the spirits of creatures too pure to carry blood

You can’t return us

because your diary is not a library book

We are not borrowed words

sentences who rent out rooms in your eyes

Do not replace us with a more readable edition

Because you’re far too complex

To reduce your reading

To tales with happy endings and princes and promises

You started reading 500 shades of grey when you were five

Because you never had an appetite for black and white

You cannot donate your life story to fiction

Claim that we are adopted creations

For we are your most essential organs

The fallen cells of your ventricles

The sweat of your soul from all its growth

You gave us life

Breathed soul into our letters

Stop trying to abort something

That has already been born

You might be our mother

But we are your savior

Just let us nail your hands and heart

On the crucifix instead.