A real poet uses their tears for ink.
Their broken lives they use to think.

Create stories of real pain.
The best poets are the most insane.

Stops and thinks about what to write next.
Thinks long, like about an unanswerable text.

Pen with a sharp tip, like a knife blade.
The knife that stabbed their back, memories don't fade.

Pages as smooth as all the lies they've heard.
Imagination as free as a solitary bird.

The feelings bleed out from the open cut.
Poems can leave a sick feeling in your gut.

A simple poem, a single verse.
Could be a blessing, could be a curse.