sometimes i hate being a poet, because i write about everyone but no one writes about me. i am the one spilling my heart out with ink; suffering, quietly, crying, and aching. why does my mind feel the need to empty itself and write? my words don't always heal this ache, they just make my chest bleed even more. why can't i be an empty person, who can let go and doesn't let their fingers fly with passion and remorse and spite? sometimes i hate being a writer, because all of these cries feel futile, they just keep reminding me that no one is listening to me.