People tend to tell me things.
Not just friends.
Even strangers want to show me little glimpses of their lives.
The shiny. The sordid.
I am a keeper of secrets.
Oh, if you only knew the things I know.
I think it has something to do with the way I read people.
I’m good at figuring out what it is you need.
If you must be surrounded by loud voices and excitement,
I will go a little crazy with you.
In the throb of the music, in the heat of the moment,
while we are dancing on top of a bar,
you will shout something to me,
something you never told anyone else before.
If you need a dark corner and shady whispers,
I will sit with you, still and silent, for as long as you want.
And I will turn my head so as to not look you in the eye.
If that’s what you need, I’ll do it.
And you will open up like a book. You will.
You will unlock the chambers in your mind,
and you will share things with me.
You will show me the hidden crawlspaces in your heart.
(Writing poems almost-daily has been a big fat FAIL so far. For me. But not for Amy Turn Sharp. She's still going strong. Still writing every day. Check her out on Facebook: A poem a day for a year. And one more linky link: I save all my most favorite things she writes to my Tumblr.)