my poetry hides in every crevice of the appalachian mountains
it is disregarded, unburned, and abandoned in ghostly, old coal mining towns
it is buried in the scolding sand on virginia beach
my words can be found so easily, as they've been said before
my art is in every school garbage can, found beneath soiled apple cores and hidden bad grades
it is waiting, evolving, and gathering knowledge of what it is like to be "not good enough"
it is hung in every art gallery, from new york to cali, no, from japan to italy
my visuals can be found if they are looked for, but they never have been before
so when you ask me for my work to be placed in comparison
to the only artist you crave
I feel my mind bend, and I feel my heart break
I have faced rejection enough to know if I can place
this unclaimed competition is unfair and I'm sure you can feel my chest's ache
through the vibration of my notification
from your phone in your hands, though they dare not even shake
at the expense of my own worry
if this is about art and what you truly want to admire
it's another's heart --but my body works as a great substitute
so hang a photo of me and let's be realistic about all of this
you want quick endorphin release, not substance
YOU ARE READING
Vital
PoetryFeatured on @WattpadPoetry's reading list Stygian Skies and @CoffeeCommunity's Cappuccino reading list. A poetry book that trembles with fear, explodes with rage, and loves with everything it has. It tries to make sense of the past and explores trau...
