Why My Poem Exists

Nothing is more accessible than a poem.
Me and the lonely line that needs another.
Our quiet contemplation of the world without us
under a dim lamplight at dusk,
preparing to sleep for the inevitable dream.
We eat rice and beans to stay alive.
We are the only ones who befriend rats.
We are the patron saints of the homeless.
We live for the love of stanzas in little rooms,
huddled close as one line begets another
and the loneliness dissipates temporarily.
And so i am in this old house with no family-
only my poems who find me alien.