To My Writer
You are adored by many
while I was known by few
Why couldn't you see me?
How could I be known by you?
When will I be your muse—
the one who you'd write for
or be that choice you'd choose
despite your fears from before?
Will I ever get to live in your heart?
Will I ever get to reside in your art?
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YOU ARE READING
He Who Cried Words
PoetryYou made my eyes cry but never of tears. You stabbed my chest but it never made me bleed. When you broke me apart, you just gave life to an art. When you broke my heart, you only fueled me to write. -E. Pleuvoir Cover made with canva
