I WRITE

I write out the pain

because it hurts too much

to keep it inside.

And it never makes anything

Better

to tell anyone

when it’s still there

and real.

So, I write the pain

from my shadow

and lay it in the light

of white blank paper

Till joy—

a little brook—spills

sweet and fresh

against the thirsting

empty places

where the hurting was

And I smile

again

and go on living.