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.


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