Poetry: Strangers

“You do not know me, but I know you hurt.

You say what many feel,

and your heart isn’t on your sleeve,

it is in the air;

pouring out your soul one drop of love at a time.

You make your stand,

but not in anger,

or in fear,

nor do you make it in a bubble of self-preservation

or a degenerately self-destructive sphere.

You make your stand in love.

You do not know me, but I know you hurt.

What do I say, to you?

What do I do to make it better?

Nothing.

I can’t find the words,

and the pain is not just skin deep.

It is art-deep.

It is heart-deep.

It is scar-deep.

I’d like to say it will get better;

I’d like to say it will heal,

but it would be a lie

because for that to happen,

we’d have to stop what we feel.

You do not know me, but I know you hurt.

I know this because humanity … hurts,

and we are but human.

Far removed

and yet folded into each other,

layer upon layer,

emotion upon emotion,

life upon life.

You say what many feel

and you heart isn’t on your sleeve;

it is in the air pouring out your soul

one drop of love at a time.

As is mine,

and his,

and hers,

and theirs.

One.

Drop.

It matters.

Thank you.”

Copyright ©2016 Adri Sinclair