I'll take my own experience,
Wrap it up and tie it in a bow.
I'll take all the things I've felt,
Make it poetic and put it in a show.
I will build walls around my heart,
Then talk about how roses bloom in the cracks.
And I'll tell them how you kisses me where you punched,
But never tell them I punched back.
I will write monologues about the sky
And how it reminds me of your hair
Or perhaps a sonnet
About how I never really cared.
I'll take my abandonment issues and sob stories
Into the palm of my hand
Then crush it into stardust
And try to be the sea glass in a beach full of sand
But no matter how many
Metaphores or analogies I create
I can make words beautiful
But never my feelings fake.
We are poets stuck in a cycle,
Blooming blossoms that never change.
We are artists making art
Out of the beauty of pain.