Dear writer, you feel so damn under appreciated:
I love you.
I love you because I know what it's like.
Little ink addict, I know:
The mountains of writer's block you've climbed.
The mirrors of self-doubt you've peeked at a second before you scrap that
greatest piece your words have pieced posing like a Picasso masterpiece;
therefore they'll judge you... because they don't understand your art.
Tear-stained papers go unseen, bleeding wrist bleeding streams of scenes you've writ -
go unseen,
The cold heat that hits you as you spill things from so
deep
in your soul that you're naked and suffering from night time hypothermia...
is your sweet caffeine high...
Ahh, how sweet that high is.
Beautiful, poetic, overthinking, ever-spaced-out writer, poet and artist with words -
I know what it's like to dream...
then tear
d
o
w
n
the canvas of your dream
by yourself.
I just want to say...
Don't stop:
Failure isn't the foe -
Your perseverance and time is:
Domesticate them so
That the reason you hold
Yourself back is not the show
Of thoughts of self-doubt.
Please never let your thinking hold you back -
you owe yourself that
(For all your unique pains and
experience's stains)
