Read Me.

I.

We scatter our words,

like breadcrumbs,

hoping someone follows them

back to us.

II.

They ask for criticism,

with their fingers crossed  

behind their backs.

They want witnesses, not critics.

III.

Every poet wants an audience;

Almost none want a mirror.

I ask you to read me. You read me to ask you.

And we both leave before the other one

reaches the last line.

IV.

Perhaps Poetry was never meant to be read.

Perhaps we only wanted proof

Someone had opened the door.

V.

So I will read you.

Not because I care what you wrote.

But because I want you to read me.