A friend asked me how to write a poem.
I wanted to say,
Lock yourself in a room.
Scream until you have a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed until,
Your bones are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat.
And all you can do is bleed.
And all your regrets,
And all the darkness,
That you boxed up for inspirations.
Write your mom a letter,
Tell her your leaving,
In your room,
Locked in your deepest thoughts,
Writing nothing but poems and won’t be back for a while.
Because being a poet,
Is traveling through all seven layers of hell.
And denying anything is wrong,
Forget loving yourself.
When all you have is a pen and paper fused to your wrist.
And Lucifer is tapping at your skull saying,
“Dont turn back “
Warn the neighbors,
That if they smell burning,
It’s  just your soul clawing at your front door,
Trying to get in,
Learn how to be alone,
Learn how to lose everything you have in order to feel release.
Learn how to feel deceased for now on.

A friend asked me how to write a poem…..
All I said was don’t.