Poetry Was too good to be true,
Untill
It was the only cease,
For the clashing of two;
Brutish souls
From the cluttering
Of ruptures,
Of my subtle existence.
I wonder,
I still ponder.
I wouldn't be here
If not for you.
Do i loathe you
For giving me pain?
Or do i owe you?
For you taught me
How to form
Rhyming pairs
From my pain.
Once, what i used to
Believe it was you.
Now,
This is what makes me whole;
Poetry,
Is my home.