In the Name of Poetry

The world isn’t always poetic, my mother

tells me today. I shrug and keep writing

because I’m convinced the entire world is

poetic if you capture the essence of it subtly

like a paintbrush on blank canvas, or the way my diamonds reflect the sun at midday.

I use these poems to solidify memories, to firmly cement the brutal history of my heart

so the world cannot kill me again,

it can only look back at me like this

which doesn’t hurt as much, I think.