What would a poem be
if it was never, at least by someone,
read out loud?
What would be the love
that was only strictly contained
in its own boundaries?
What if the kid
that is crying and screaming
on the top of its voice
was actually at some point understood?
What if I was heard?
What if you were touched?
What if the universe works in two directions
and when things go wrong
it’s only its way of saying
that it cannot reach us,
not necessarily that we cannot reach it.
Maybe it’s its own way of complaining.
Maybe we need to let more things inside…
Maybe it’s our strength that frightens us.

(And in case you are still wondering.)
No side is the outside.
Once you are in, you are all in.