Like a Melody in My Head

I feel as if I should make some comment about the following poem. Like explain in full how it's based on an actual conversation, no matter if it didn't happen exactly the way it's presented. But on the other hand, what does it matter, right? It's poetry. They tell us that poetry can come out of anything and from anywhere. That maybe you could even make a poem out of the words on the back of a cereal box. (I'm pretty sure it's been done.) So it's really hard to say what poetry even is. Us poets just keep on trying and hope that at least one person will like what we do. Whatever that means.
Nonetheless, here it is:

LIKE A MELODY IN MY HEAD

She raises her brow and continues to hum.
Now I'm going to go to sleep humming this song.
She says, "What are you writing?"

"A poem that you're writing."
She furrows her brow,
"I didn't know I was writing."

You don't feel your hand moving
And your brain hurting slightly?

I think I'll keep this poem to myself....

Sometimes in the Middle of Midnight, I Tell You Everything and Pretend You Can Hear Me

No one listens and no one understands
And that's how we know we live falsely.
That's how uncertainty traipses through the door
And how we know you can never fix me.

Around the campfire with comfort and cold
There is a forbidden desire for warmth.
And as the flames climb the unwitting ladder
We never accept the need for a choice.

And no one gets to join the circle of one
Because now is not yet the time.
And no one really knows what to expect
Even though there is no need for a sign.

And so I pray for you many days
Because I don't have enough faith.
And I never pray for my own strength
Because my faith makes me feel too safe.

But I assure you that there will be a great day
When the fire path unlocks this cold cell.
People will walk cautiously through the door
And for you all love will be made well.