What is raw?
What is real?
What is simply making it worse?
All these wounds
Never heal
Because time can’t go in reverse
I can write
All these things
About how I used to be
Let it out
For a crowd
So they can all see
But it won’t help
Not one bit
If they know what’s deep inside
All it does
Is make me
Regret that I even tried
I write as an outlet, as a way to let all the nasty things running though my brain come out in a neat little package. And I post poems, poems about whatever I’m going through, as a cry for help... but people never listen