Emotions
I love playing with emotions.
Nothing has ever given me greater joy.
That’s why I write,
So I can send you into a mine
With precious stones glittering,
Magnifying a hair of sunlight
Until the entire chamber
Is blindingly bright.
But as the sun descends,
The jewels cannot overcome the dark.
And you cannot find your way out.
Maybe I am a siren,
Calling you with joyful songs
And leading you to your death.
Maybe I am a mirror,
Showing you beauty with one glance
And horror with the next.
Maybe I am a poem,
Taking any feeling,
Any sense and tangling it up
Into words until you are trapped,
The poem’s thick vines choking you.
And they seemed so tame before.
Maybe I am the ocean,
A beauty to watch but don’t forget
Any moment spent with me that you are not dead
Is merely a gift of my giving self.
Maybe I am a woman,
A mess of emotions my self
And I just can’t help but play with yours.
Maybe I am
Your magnum opus,
Or your shaking knees
That buckle every time you stand.
Maybe I am nothing more
Than simple words on a page.
But how will you know
Unless you let me in?