What I Know

The thing is
there are a hundred thousand ways
of feeling broken and
you
and me
and your best friend and
the stranger sitting in front of you and
your cousin’s sister’s best friend’s baby’s mama
all know
what they are.
But only I can know
the way my heart races when I see injustice and the way
my face flushes when I walk the path of righteousness and
only I can know
the way my mind wraps itself around words
heating the inside so they boil and jump and
burble into new creations, then cool as they
settle into poems on my tongue
crispy, delicate,
gooey on the inside
surprising.

And the thing is
there are a hundred thousand things
people could say that could shake me
would shake me
have shaken me and
there are a hundred thousand things people could do
would do
have done
and I know—as you know and
the soul sitting next to you knows and
hell, even your
great aunt’s second husband’s grandfather knows
that none of those things matter but
we’ll feel them and
believe them and
be crushed by them anyway.
But only I know
the way my soul caresses my body when I move and
the way my god finger-paints
purple sunshine
streaming through my heart into my narrow vision and the way
I love
saving worms from the sidewalk because
I really believe that moment of gentleness
makes the world
a more compassionate place to live.

And the thing is
you
and me
and the person in front of you you’ll never touch
who is also blinking back tears of self-doubt
go through life
saving worms or
recycling bottles or
smiling at strangers
as though we are ordinary
ignorant to our own worth and even
daring to think
we might be broken or
cracked or
unworthy.

We’re all poems
waiting to be written
heated on the inside
boiling
jumping
burbling into love-full creations
that cool as they settle into souls
delicate
resilient
powerful and

the thing is
it all starts with
you
and me
loving us.