7h • Feedback & Critique
Who do I
Trust is not a handshake.
It is not words tossed cheap
like pennies in a church jar
hoping somebody mistakes noise for faith.
Trust is the slow unlocking
of a guarded rib cage.
It is saying,
“Here
this is the part of me
still bleeding,”
and praying the other person
doesn’t press their fingers into the wound.
Trust is built in silence sometimes.
In who stays.
In who answers the phone at 2 a.m.
In who remembers the things
you never said out loud.
It is fragile as old glass
and stubborn as oak roots.
Hard to earn.
Easy to shatter.
Nearly impossible
to glue back together
without seeing every crack.
Some people wear trust
like a costume for applause.
Others carry it
like a lantern through a storm,
protecting the flame
with both hands.
And maybe that’s the tragedy of it
the heart must risk itself
every single time.
Because no matter how many times
life teaches us betrayal,
we still ache
to believe in somebody.
We still leave the door unlocked
for love.
By Jason Strickland
2
2 comments
Who do I
powered by
skool.com/the-art-of-poetry-1080
Art of Poetry craft truth into rhythm. Find your voice, master imagery and form, write bravely, revise sharply, and turn life into lines that last.
Suggested communities
Powered by