The reason I don’t sign my name
to the contents of my heart
is that sometimes they are tangled
and sometimes they are dark.
Sometimes I find brokenness in places I once lived
and the way I grind the edges down it bleeds out the words and gives
the tangled edges room to run, to stretch out
their tangled legs, to straighten out my thoughts
and heart, pour out the sour dregs.
And here in this tangled, sour space, sometimes there’s blinding light,
He’s never scoffed at darkness,
never called me anything but bright.
so I don’t sign my name to these
honest words that may offend,
because the one I wrote them down for
knows my name and calls me friend.
