Poetry Is My No.1

Poetry Is My No.1

Poetry is the place I learned to breathe again,

When silence pressed too closely on my chest.

Words arrived before I knew I needed saving,

They sat with me and never asked me to explain.

I did not choose this language lightly or for show,

It chose me in moments I could not outrun.

When voices failed and doors refused to open,

A single line became a place to stand.

Ink holds what my hands could never carry,

Truth too heavy for casual conversation.

Each sentence keeps my pulse steady and honest,

Writing what my heart refuses to forget.

This is not a hobby dressed in borrowed passion,

It is survival written carefully in form.

I have stitched myself together with phrases,

And learned how to remain without apology.

Some nights poetry is all that stays awake with me,

Listening without judgement or demand.

It does not rush my healing or rewrite my past,

It lets me speak exactly as I am.

I do not need permission to call this devotion,

It has carried me through endings and return.

While other things faded or asked too much,

Poetry remained faithful to my becoming.

So if you ask where my loyalty has always lived,

Look between the lines I leave behind.

This is my first truth and my final home,

Poetry is my no.1, and always mine.