They say poems are written in words.
Pieced together with sentences.
And sustained with periods.
Black coffee kept me awake,
I was discovering myself in thought.
I felt my pulse.
"For once in my life, I felt it."
The cursive in my mind was confusing,
Usually it came with a vision, but this was different.
There was no meaning.
Opening myself to vulnerability,
Understanding knowledge was not a gift,
but an acquired taste.
We as humans have no true understanding of personalities.
I have spent years watching people,
And learning nothing.
Happiness can be found.
Listen to the world.
When hope has eaten life,
You're left with one thing,