Why I'm A Poet

They say that when something traumatic happens, people sometimes go into shock. 

They say you'll go numb and sit there in a stunned silence as your brain tries to comprehend what happened. 

You don't fully realize the damage done until you're sitting by yourself in a quiet room trying to concentrate on breathing. 

When you left, I could only concentrate on breathing. 

I could only be numb because my brain was trying to comprehend the damage done and I knew that if I sat quietly, concentrating on breathing, I wouldn't tear myself apart. 

I was suddenly a shell shocked husk of a person who could only concentrate on breathing. 

Blurry images clouded over my awareness in the months that followed. 

Still I was numb. I was shocked. I was just trying to breathe. 

I looked for you in every pair of brown eyes that met mine. 

I looked for you in the caress of every hand. 

I looked for you in shared breaths. 

I began to write down every memory I had of you in fear that images of you would too become numb. 

Late nights and early mornings were met with the scratching of my pen. 

I was afraid to forget you. I was afraid that you had forgotten me. 

I turned you into a myth that would only be told in my words. 

I wrote to make things less hard. 

I write to reframe from becoming numb again. 

I open old wounds anytime I let your name drip from my pen. 

I became a poet for you.