A poets heart
Is that of torn and tattered pages
Filled with words that beg to be expressed
That most will deny, and keep repressed
So filled with vengeful hate,
Twisted love,
Sweat-breaking fear,
Painful anger,
Created not by the friends they keep close
But the demons they host
My heart is that of a poet
Cold, but true
And if you understand what the demons mean,
Well then
You might be one too.