i asked my friend (who lives far away and happens to be an amazing poet and also carried me up the stairs one time and also brought me avocados to eat and coconut water to drink after going out for a walk with his dog) to send me some poetry that he likes, so that i could have some poetry to read. It was funny because I asked him on a day that I felt sad, and I told him that it would cheer me up to read poetry but of course every poem he sent me was very melancholy. Can you be happy, and write good poetry? Unsure.

These words, they are grinding up the inside of my heart.

The silence when I hold you to my chest,
the silence of the window above us,
and the silence when you rise and turn away.

Silence - by Billy Collins

There is the sudden silence of the crowd
above a player not moving on the field,
and the silence of the orchid.

The silence of the falling vase
before it strikes the floor,
the silence of the belt when it is not striking the child.

The stillness of the cup and the water in it,
the silence of the moon
and the quiet of the day far from the roar of the sun.

The silence when I hold you to my chest,
the silence of the window above us,
and the silence when you rise and turn away.

And there is the silence of this morning
which I have broken with my pen,
a silence that had piled up all night

like snow falling in the darkness of the house—
the silence before I wrote a word
and the poorer silence now.