The Mute

I know when you hold your head,
when this place feels least like home,
I know when you're lost in the crowd
where you've never felt so alone.

I know that bounce in your step,
the barely disguised twitch of glee,
I know your heart races when she smiles,
the one who sets you free.

I know when you're just feeling nothing,
not happy, not sad, not hurt,
I know when nothing matters, anymore,
and even your depression lies inert.

I know all the people I watch,
read the mes in the crowds I see,
feel your tingles, triumphs, tells,
as if written plainly on your sleeve.

I know more beauty is out there,
when so few care to look,
I know it because I've seen it,
hope in every shadowy nook.

I know I can't tell you the words
that would make you praise the day,
nothing comes when I open my mouth,
and it's not really my place to say.

Instead, I write your melodies,
paint the portraitures inside your head,
try to help the ways I can,
and you write yourself instead.

They say it's unimaginable beauty,
that comes when I hold a pen,
but it's only what you share with me
when you think inside your head.

The End

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