I learned not to look for meaning
in every open field of grass,

every raindrop latched onto my window,
every smile you save for me.
I learned not to look for cracks
in every passing face I see,
in every story told with a flourish-
everything is broken.
(Just a bit. Somewhere.
Something breaks everything,
in the end.)

I learned not to wait for silence
To let my tears slip out.
Little disasters change nothing,
and everything is chaos.
(Just a bit. But all the time.)

I learned not to run after my thoughts
when they try so hard to stray;
to let go of fragments of tales
and words which sound like wisdom:
not everything needs to be written down
and safely stashed away.
(Nothing really does.
Voids are filled in many ways.)

I learned that some truths are untruths,
that no one needs to know all of mine,
that no one is quite strong enough
to bear the mundane secrecy
of someone else’s sadness.

I learned that not a bit of life is poetry;
We only make it seem that way
because truths that are untruths
and tears like rivers and love like oceans
and pride like a mountain and joy like nothing else
paint emptiness with colour.

But I learned not to look for meaning.
(There is little to find.)