Freaks for poetry,
Writing endlessly,
Letter after letter,
Word after word.
Emotions severed,
And put on a page
On display, for the world.
Can you see their soul?
It's sewn between their works.
Fibers of their being, they
Generously let you see.
Words in their minds,
That express their feelings,
Their opinions,
Or even fantasies.
Parts of them, we get to keep,
Sometimes their words,
Are what we need.
To inspire, or relate to.
(Words make a great escape too.)
It's always a new experience,
The work of a poet is mysterious,
Will my mind fill with joy,
Or will these lines bring me tears?
Will these words make me crumble,
Or provoke my thoughts to creep?
They open up to strangers,
'Cause deep inside,
We're all freaks.

-SLuR