reading room
Draft
This is a love poem. There is no you. There is only the space where a you might have stood, like a chair pulled out and never pushed back in.
This is a protest poem. No one is marching. The signs are all internal, written in pencil, held up only when I'm alone.
This is a joke poem. You're allowed to laugh here. I circled the punchline in red and still waited for permission.
This is a children's poem. It uses short lines and simple words and asks questions grown-ups step around like cracks in the pavement.
This is a religious poem. There is faith in it, but no god. Only the quiet hope that meaning exists even when no one is watching.
This is a philosophical poem. Like a mirror trying to explain its reflection.
This is not a poem. This is what happens when I keep being asked to choose a box and all of them feel too small.
This is a poem. It just isn't finished deciding who it's allowed to be.
— Lilith