Poems?
Why are they so hard to write?
They bleed my brain,
tire my hands,
make me overthink
if my poem is ever good enough.

When I think it’s good,
it ends up unseen.
What can you expect?
I can't decode what society wants to read.

My soul feels drained.
I thought my hard work would shine —
but again,
it's not good enough.

What am I missing?
Is my passion too small?
Do I need a heavier heart —?
one that truly understands pain?

Maybe…
I just overestimated myself.