What more is there to say-
I’ve never found so much comfort
in a white page.
I bare my mind to you.
I wring out the juice
that poisons my spirit,
that prevents my sleep.
And as it splatters on your canvas
you are still-
and you listen.
Never have you dismissed me
or my emotional reasonings.
Rather,
you validate my sanity.
You quietly accept the discard pile
that is of no use
to the players around me.
When the coyotes run and howl
and their diseased jaws
snap upon my sides,
you hear the silent cry
for help.
Or release,
Or for something
that would bring me peace.
Even on the days that
I can fashion as a backpack
and carry further up this hill,
you alone understand the distance
and offer no resistance
because you get that the walk
is long enough.
And when I look at you,
you are still listening.
Even when I disassociate
the weight
Or the heights
of the places in which I stand,
you demand nothing.
And when you hear nothing-
you continue to listen anyway.
Alas, this is the place to unravel.