Before I started draining parts of me
onto this page
I couldn't see for the clearest of paths,
I would dwell,
Hide away in my own safe house
Of saturated stories.

I would scratch my head catching gravity
between my fingertips.
A color would be a rainbow in black skies
of circling crows.

The floor around me would move
dancing along,
It would lead me and my pen to paper
Like a knight's sword to stone.
I would wonder why my mind
Could paint,
My thoughts would explode
into millions of fireflies.

Sometimes I would see the most
flawless imagery
But I couldn't write it down for the awe
of being lost,
Inside my own world of untold stories,
and poetry.

i wrote a lot of great poetry when i was in love
i wrote even better poetry when i was in pain
i wrote the best poetry when i realized that the two emotions were actually the same.