It’s been quite a while,
since I really poured out,
on a page with words and letters,
which I can’t say in passion or rage.

Words don’t spill from my lips,
they get all twisted by my tongue,
it’s scary, unnerving and uncertain,
I wish I could disappear into oblivion.

I don’t sound like Shakespeare,
my words are simple and straight,
the others have it all planned out,
I want to be like them,
so I stay awake thinking,
I stay awake till late.

There has never been anything truer,
I have never confessed in simpler words,
I wish my words had more life,
I want them to fly away like birds.

I am scared of not getting better,
it’s been a while since I felt something,
reading what I have written,
but it’s all so bland and stupid,
I feel pained and bitten.

I don’t know if I will get better,
I don’t know what the future holds,
I just hope I am a great poet and protagonist,
in a story that’s yet to be told.