Some writers, well, poetry writers.
Tell you how hurt they are.
How they felt, when it all happened.
It seems that I cannot recall how,
I felt during the times I cried.
I hit my head with my hand in a fist,
wondering why I can't explain.
It drains me and puts me to shame.
I would love to understand myself,
I would rip my heart out, and search through,
every vein-
for the smallest amount of authenticity in my words.
Is my writing, worth all of this blood?
- author
YOU ARE READING
I wish that I didn't write these poems.
PoesiaVarious collective of unwanted poems I have written; for people who are fond of the subjects of heartache and who are disorientated through the navigation of this world. Let me share this with you. My emotions are inconsistent and messy, please in...
