Poems that Touch

With poems, the Truth is in the Touch

Vibrations start in the heart

Reach through space, walk across air

And touch the heart of another person.

In this world of single-minded social media, cell phone blinders, and the pursuit of what must be mine,

The returning echo seems to say

“We’re real.

You and I, here, together,

We’re real.”

So, I was writing poems for years, and I wasn’t a poet.

Shy kid, hiding in a notebook,

In the world of an overcrowded public school,

There’s a sort of alchemy:

Conversations become noise,

Potential friends become potential threats,

And poems become a way to escape from the rubbed-raw pressure in my chest

From the overwhelming overstimulation of 2,135 sets of suspicious eyes,

All thinking

“How am I going to get through this alone?”

One day in English class,

After I had hyperventilated in the bathroom stall,

And debated ditching out again,

(“Nobody stops you; nobody cares; the door is wide open”)

I showed up to class, sat in the back row,

And I started scribbling to avoid eye contact.

And my teacher,

Who looked, to me, like a lion,

Was standing at the front of the room asking for a poem.

There was silence.

Then he spoke again,

Clear and true,

And the vibrations of his voice touched my heart

And steeled the pressure in my chest

And I knew his words were meant for me.

He said,

“Be bold.”

So I was.

I stood up,

And for the first time,

I spoke the words I had written.

And that was when I realized,

The Truth is in the Touch.