Even If You Can’t
Anyway,
You were always meant to write until you broke
the very language you were leaning for.
Things are not okay.
You are not okay
Your piano strains to find a chord
Your sculpture cracks
A voice shakes
A canvas bleeds
The curtain falls
The dancers fuck
You stand in front of a blank page, screaming
“THIS IS GONNA HURT”
But you are doing something
anyway,
You were always meant to cry at night
when sound sleepers put their heads in soft places
things are not okay
The screen won’t stay black long enough for the world to grow vast again
and anyway,
You were always meant for things that are not findable on screens
– compact, e-mailable, googleable.
You lie with your eyes peeled and darkness spills through
You kneel with your head on the tiles and cry your eyes out
You have dreams that weren’t meant for sound sleepers
You hurt because you are someone
Because you are growing, trying
You hurt because you feel
everything’s wrong
but nothing’s wrong with you
for knowing it.
Even if you can’t be the one who brings the light
Be the one who waits all night for light to break
and watch it shine while they are sleeping
