For Now:

Somehow I've found myself tangled
Up in knots around pages of poetry
I could've sworn I'd forgotten
Long ago in the dorm rooms of boys
Who wouldn't know prose from pea soup.
Why did I let you in, anyway?
Pulled back the cardboard door to my insides
and there they lay, coherently shattered,
the little lost lines that prove, to me, at least,
that yes- I am alive and yes- I do bleed.
Even if it's only in black ink.
It was never for me to speak aloud:
I cannot exist in your world of sound-
I am so broken I make sense only in
Random pieces I hide in back of notebooks
Intended for worthier things.
When I said I was a poet, what did you have in mind, anyway?
I exist, I rise, I exist, I subside,
My emotions in the hands of a tempestuous moon-
They batter the core of me.
I did not lie when I said there was too
much: to pull down these walls would be to drown you.
When you said you cared, did you mean it?