Tuesday, February 16, 2016


(for Maya)

We must force ourselves
to say the things 
we cannot speak, 
the wounds for which 
there are no voices, 
pain that is
our silent scream.
We have to find a way
to set them free,
the stuff we pretend
cannot be seen
or heard, for fear that
speaking might bring
fresh monsters.
And so we create
& poems,
the stuff that's in us,
the stuff that is us.
The stuff that points.

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