Not Your Dustbin..... (A Poem For The Listener Who Deserves To Be Heard) Poem by WIN VENTURA

They come with voices heavy as bricks,
Dropping stories like stones at my feet.
As if my silence were an invitation,
As if my stillness were a seat.

They pour their troubles like stormy rain,
On the windows of my quiet mind—
Never pausing to ask if I, too,
Might be weathering something unkind.

They think I'm the healer with endless time,
A prophet wrapped in mystery's thread.
But when I speak of my softest ache,
They pretend they never heard what I said.

They want the light but not the flame,
They want the truth without the pain.
But I am not a mirror made for them—
I am stardust, thunder, and rain.

I'm not your dustbin for sorrow and fear,
Not your diary, not your daily ghost.
I am a soul with my own tides,
A moon you forgot to toast.

So now I rise, not in anger, but grace,
Drawing borders with threads of gold.
For those who come only to drain my peace—
Let silence be what they hold.

By: - WIN VENTURA