today I learned
that you are named after a poetry
(one of my favorite poets to be honest)
but it's a beautiful irony
we have here.
you are named after a poet,
who's words flow into beautiful stanzas,
and even though he is long gone,
his words mean more than yours ever will.
your words are sharp and cruel,
and I'm unable to read them out loud.
(I tried to sing them once,
but my mouth burned your words
and my tongue couldn't stand it)
and all they do is push people to bridges
and swallow the poison that
you've wrote into your "poetry".
(they do not inspire anyone except for me
when I actually believed the kind ones you wrote)
You do not deserve to bear my favorite poets name when
the only words you craft are the
lies you will never stop spinning.
(you should've been named after a spider,
not after this poet)
but perhaps one day I'll meet a poet
(a real poet with beautiful words
that can heal anyone's scars)
they'll write me beautiful words that will reach me
(just like you wrote me beautiful lies)
and the beautiful irony will always be there,
in the lie that is your name