Go back in time and find that muse
the one that’s good that you used to use.
A broken heart never felt so good
as when you’d write what you know you should.
Ive lost it now, and want It back.
That feeling of dreams that cut the slack
Do I need that heartbreak and shame
to write the things that have that name
that I gave them once? You know which one,
the one that you thought of and thought you were done,
but I’m not done there is so much more.
Hiding. Waiting to break through the door
Maybe if I get it all out in writing
my emotions and dreams won’t be constantly fighting.
To wrap it up I just have this:
My happiness is NOT my bliss.