The Animal at the Door
There are the poems you write
and tuck away,
a release of madness more than the polite
setting down of words,
an exposure you are not willing to risk,
certain to hurt others
more than the pain of holding it close.
You choose to bear the wound
as it scrapes at the cabinet door
like an animal eager to escape.
About this poem
A long poem made short.
We all have things inside that we keep there. It is not healthy, but we do it anyway.
The photograph is stock, not one of mine.