Listen to my poem

Listen to my poem

She begged him to listen to her poem. He did. It was awful. He grimaced a smile and nodded with approval, but she sensed the truth.
"What's wrong with it?" She asked.
He didn't know what to say. He suddenly realized that he didn't know how to put it into words. He just knew the poem held no music for him. He told her this.
"So what do you think is good? Why don't you let me read one of your poems? Better yet, why don't you write a poem right now?"
He thought for a moment. There was poetry in this moment; could he capture it? He gazed thoughtfully into space for a moment, reached for pencil and pad, and began.

Heart in hand she comes to him,
open and trusting
and needing
approval;
but knowing his nature she expects
contempt.
She is not disappointed;
but what she sees as contempt
he feels as fear
and confusion
and love for the effort
it took
to trap him

He handed her the poem. She read it and said, "This is good."
He hid his tears in a smile.