Twelve Seconds

The bard has never had it easier.
A book can cross oceans
with the push of a finger.
A poem can find a stranger
before the dreaming cat wakes up.
A voice can travel farther
than any poet from another century
could have imagined.

And still,
I fight for twelve seconds.
Twelve seconds for someone
to stop scrolling.
Twelve seconds for a stranger
to sit alone with their feelings.

A golf swing gets watched.
A fish gets caught.
Boobs get revealed.
Animal videos get shared
a thousand times.

But a human being sitting alone,
trying to turn their wounds into words,
trying to connect with this world
we were born into,
trying to take the edge off the pain,
sometimes gets passed by.

Maybe that's the price
of living in a world
where everything is common
and available.

Even poetry.

Maybe the hardest thing
isn't being heard.
Maybe the hardest thing
is finding someone willing
to be still.