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to write

to write
i’m trying to tell u something
about the madness
to help me understand the hunger
of being human.
i wrap words around my heart like
a blanket and crawl it’s language
until the questions point me to some

each word is family, each tiny hand
reaching into my vision and offering
description to my experience -
this is y i write -
not for you
not as wisdom for the world-
but as pain from the lookout
from the crooked line-
from the letters in this song
that comfort me into believing
i am not alone.

i am fastened to each word
in the hope u may understand
its restless bones and not bury
chaos in the night of our silence.
i secure the words to me for
there is enough indifference
outside of me falling softly
falling away from my own voice-
& who shall hear me scream?

the crisis is not that i may
speak but that u cannot hear-
that is y i write-
bound to some search for clarity-
for the gentle music of my troubles
& love & fire-
in the hope in the past in the
hiding places of someone somewhere
may also understand…