The Poet X

by Elizabeth Acevedo

They got combat boots and a mouth silent until it’s sharp as an island machete.

Something in my chest flutters like a bird whose wings are being gripped still by the firmest fingers.

Because every day the idea of poetry club is like Eve’s apple: something you can want but can’t have.

but most importantly, she should be remembered as always working to become the warrior she wanted to be.

I just wanted to know if you would listen with me to the sound of our heartbeats.

Maybe, the only thing that has to make sense about being somebody’s friend is that you help them be their best self on any given day. That you give them a home when they don’t want to be in their own.

Maybe my silence. Condones the ugly things people think.