Poetry is complicated
Whether it be your teardrops onto the ink of painful truths
The deafening anger, when you have such strong emotion inside of you, words scramble out of your way
The heartfelt syllables read by someone who cant appreciate, your soul on a page
Or the crossing out of words, because they never say what you plead them to

Yet we write anyway

Because sometimes there is a moment,

Everything you've been trying to say, flows from your hand and suddenly, it falls into place, in front of you a piece of literature that encapsulates what was held in your heart and head for too long