Talk it out.

That’s what you always do,

And what I always help you with--

The difference is

I’m not the talker,

more the listener.

I never open up my mouth

but to share my words of wisdom,

or helpful sympathy-

I never had to share my own sadness,

or

worries.

It was strange to me,

You must expect,

when I was the one talking-

I didn’t know what I was doing

until you guided me like walking.

Words mumbled,

or whispered

or only simply stated-

It’s funny for a writer to say

how do I express my feelings?

But soon I got the hang of it,

and words tumbled from my lips.

I may not have talked much,

but just enough for you to see

and heal with soothing sound-

Your own words filled me up inside

and pound

and pound

and pounded

out the Sorrow

that had been breeding there-

It was a miracle,

Or the closest that I’ve come.

Then I learned that words are healing,

When once I thought they came undone