Leave a Light On

This poem doesn’t fit in a box

with numbered syllables
and a hundred rules of conduct
to stifle any semblance of emotion.

They tell us to be silent-
they say, sit pretty
with your hands in your lap

and that in the still of the night,
no one is listening.

I shout my love for you,
from the rooftops,
painting red hearts
around your name-

like the color of your love
for me.

They can’t put you in a box, either,

or quiet the spirit that still dwells
in this temporary place
keeping empty vessels full.

Day 11 of MaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry MOnth)


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