I can't write anymore poems
About emotions I can't process
My hands burnt out
scratching, typing, writing
Get it out because it ***** staying in
Blood, words, memories
Onto a sheet of paper
Call it a poem
Call it art
Call it broken
Call it me
My name
My titles
My words
To you, my collection of mismatched proportions and punctuation,
Looks like nothing,
Looks like work.
Strung together by commas and apostrophes and prepositions
Held together by me; my voice, my tears, my smile, my laugh.
The words you struggle to comprehend
Is the portrait of me struggling to pretend
That everyday isnt a challenge.