Poetry: an outlet
Maybe it was lost to me before but
I found it
The way it means
The way it bleeds emotions
The way it feels
It's astounding
Just having the audacity to try and control it makes me feel like I'm towering overt crowds of loud and proud beings
but it doesn't end there
Oh, no.
My hands are the hands of gods
When you read my work
You're in my land, in my claws
My legs carry me through explosive terrain
build by none other than my own nonsensical brain
My skin is thicker than an awkward atmosphere
You know, when you can taste the thoughts of haste to get away and never want to come back to here
My face is actually handsome and pretty because plenty of words that contain opposite origins are still with me
But I take a hold of this majestic and wild force called poetry strictly
Mending, bending, letting others taste a reality that's not theirs so that they can maybe withold inspiration and move ahead of the struggles
The struggles of the world away
The world away from what people used to say only girls poortray
The real one
with real pain
and real hurt
and a real way to never be sure
but when my godly sceptor lands on the land of white, covered in lines of blue, perpindicular to red margins
something clicks
For this real world isn't something you can steal
This real world is only something you can express
As if a castle sits idly, containing dreams, wants, needs
but there are no doors and no windows
but don't ask how to get in, Find a way in
Fly
Jump
Climb
Run through
Teleport
Sneak around
it's only up to you
Be permanent
the world is breaking
but we can refurbish it
We can turn events into pleasent happenings
We can make peasants kings
We can make copper into gold
Don't you see?
Maybe you think that I'm running from my fears
or maybe you need to look at me from somewhere else
Because I'm facing them whenever I stand in front of mirrors
My love for here, in this everlasting land, surpasses my hungry fears
who want pure obedience
but seeing that I'm still breathing in gives me courage to look deeper within and make my worst thoughts start lingering thin
I haven't even scratched the surface or even the tip of this
This
This glacier
This glacier that I've set on my shoulders
to keep going
Because if I stop
I'll be crushed by the shear weight of inferiority
on top of that
There's guilt
fear
built in luck
and still I can't filter it through
I try to hide under the cold quilt of cheer
a show only
a facade
a mask to deflect attacks abroad
So you believe me when you ask me if I'm okay
and I just nod
All I've been in my life is a bottle
filled with
can'ts
won'ts
have nots
thrown by other tongues
until I started believing the ones
who put me down
and hurt me
and discouraged me
and burnt me
and loved me
I did
I do
and that's why I'm who I am
expressing feelings through type because those weapons those
WORDS
scare the living shit out of me
but poetry lets me control
lets me take out the ferocity
and the impossibility
and the sanity
and lets me change the words for the better
and for once
no one can judge me
and if they do
I finally have something better to do
I can finally express my fermented emotions
I can finally uncork an old bottle
I can finally
ignore them
For I have an outlet
One that saved my life
Poetry.
To harbour feelings is to care. Letting go is hard whenever it's necessary, but those who do only what's easy to them may never know real happiness.
