how to use metaphors when your mouth can’t say what your soul is screaming:

metaphor is the way
god gave poets a hall pass
to scream in public
without anyone calling security.
but they're not reserved for poets.
that’s like saying orgasms
are only for porn stars.
no.

metaphors are how we survive
the unbearable
without numbing out.
it’s the tattoo you get
when you’re too scared
to tell your father you wish
he would call.
it’s how the boy
who grew up with belt bruises
says “please just let me cry.”
it turns “i miss you” into
“there’s an empty chair
in my chest
and it still pulls itself up to the table
waiting for your voice.”

metaphors are for people who know
that “i’m fine” is a crime scene
and need a prettier way
to draw chalk
around the body.
they’re for the ones who
kiss like forgiveness
and fuck like survival
because no one ever taught them
how to speak plainly
without gagging
on the weight of being understood.
they let you hold the unbearable
without breaking your fingers.

metaphors are the hands
that reach inside your ribcage
and rearrange your heartbeat.
that's why most people fear them
because they require feeling
before understanding.

metaphor is memory’s favorite lingerie.
it reveals without revealing.
lets you see the curve
of what can’t be
seen.
that’s why
the best metaphors are erotic.
not because they’re always about sex,
but because they penetrate.
they stir something.
they touch the parts of you
that textbooks can’t
reach.