Paper Mask

There's poetry in everything
They said
But I'm sure they meant
Ballerinas and sunlit meadows
And not corpses and politics
Sure there's something pretty
About a grave
When it doesn't belong to anyone you know

But I saw a paper mask
In a puddle on the asphalt
Slick with shimmering chemical rainbows
I took a photo
And maybe there's a poem in there

But I mostly felt uneasy

And I think to myself
This isn't timeless
Like I haven't written poetry
That only speaks a fragment of time

I think
This isn't beauty
Like poetry is always meant to be pretty
Not ugly and crushing
Burning from the inside out

I think
There are millions of poets
Screaming out words
People with more loss and suffering
Whose lines bear more meaning
Than mine ever could

And that's probably true

I can't say anything
That hasn't already been said
Written better by someone else
The poignant needle driven heartwards

But I saw a bit of paper in the rain

And everything felt so heavy