I write and I spill my heart onto these pages
over and over almost daily
I cry and smudge the ink
wrinkling the paper as it dries
but no matter how many words
seep through my pores and my pen
it still does not feel like enough
enough to stop my tears or
lift this weight from my chest
Here I am, clenching my fists
knuckles white, around this pen
wishing I never had to write another sad poem