Pouring out from the top of my pen,
flooding in a pool on parchment
everything I ever felt.
Every heartache and fear,
laid bare in black ink
for your judgement:
My fragile
paper
Soul.

I’ve told him many secrets
And we rarely are apart,
We share our lives together
But he doesn’t own my heart.

We live life in parallel
But so many things unsaid,
Spectator in my own life
Who’s this stranger in my bed?

If this does end and I’m not in pain,
Was I holding on in vain?
If I can survive and smile,
I dare say it was not worthwhile.

Heart
beating,
burning fire.
Cannot control,
my inner desire.
Getting myself into strife,
thoughts are bleeding into life.
Stay calm and poised through racing heart,
as the truth could tear it all apart.

To the people who
cause the pain, that allow me
to write poetry.

The beauty of the written word,
I can capture on this page.
It tells the story of my pain,
It encapsulates my rage.

I can pen a verse to spite you.
I can weave a tapestry,
That can make one feel my sorrow
And how I was treated unjustly.

As when I write, one will learn
What I wish for them to know.
Cemented forever in this ink,
Is what I choose to show.

So in a way I pity you,
With your spoken word so clear.
So powerful in the moment,
But with the wind will disappear.

While over time my thoughts won’t fade,
Though in the moment I was weak.
The published word says volumes,
More than you could ever speak.

Is it the tree’s fault that lightening struck?
After all it stood up so tall
Its leaves rustled, beckoning
Unwavering in the wind
Daring to look strong
Taunting the rain
Practically
Asked for
It.