Monotonous subject matter
Am I truly talented
If I mainly write from pain?
Passion inspires talent
And emotions fuel passion
So the product of my passion
Should be fire
But I feel the heat leaving
And now I'm cold
Frost bitten by the stares and blank looks
When I've finished reading
Or they've closed my book
Can't they see my blood through the ink?
Isn't it an obvious cry for understanding?
Why do I even crave to be understood
I should just be satisfied with being heard
But just because you hear me
Doesn't mean you feel me
And if you don't feel me
How can you begin to understand
The complexity within
So much of my life has been spent shunning my emotions and passions
That now that I've accepted
And embraced,
I'm eager for you to as well
Excuse my enthusiasm because
Every moment not understood and embraced
Feels like my existence is diminishing
And worse than rejection
Is complacency
in the face of nullification