I think I'm broken
I can't write anymore
Fragments of thoughts
Silly as they seem
Float in and out
But never solidify
Into the poetry I once could write

But did I ever really write poetry?
To me, poetry is not
Simple words
In a stanza
A couple rhymes
Iambic pentameter
"Where  for  art  thou  Romeo?"
­
To me, poetry is emotion
It is a raw feeling
The kind you are guilty having
But still experience nonetheless

It's holding on to a fragment of something
When you believe it is all you have left
But at the same time
Believing so much more is waiting for you

I always thought of so much poetry
When I looked at you
When I saw your face
When I heard your voice
But never felt courageous enough
To share the verses and rhymes
That echoed in my head

So after you left
Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall
In my heart
And cracked, spilling out all the verses
I never shared
On to here, Hello Poetry

But surprisingly,
The egg shells I always tred on when you were around
Disintegrated
Because for once, I could write how I felt
And thought that even if you read it
You wouldn't care anyway

I feel like I'm broken
Because I've always written of love
But since that never really goes away
All the kings horses and all the kings men
**Couldn't put Humpty together again