Penguin's Poetry

Poem #38

Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself
Let out a bunch of feelings in just a few lines
Laugh a little at my grammar
Cry a lot at the truths of my work
Wonder if anybody cares about my rants
They're not exactly rants though
And they're not exactly nothing either
A little bit of both maybe?
How should I even know?
I write what I feel at the moment, or maybe the writing controls my feelings
It seems that my writing was a lot happier before
And now it's turning into dust
It's getting damn dark
I don't know why either
There has to be a way out of here
A way to make my poems happy
But when they're happy I can't express as much emotion
And it all looks like crap to be honest
So I delete most of the happy ones
Then feel hurt that they couldn't be perfect
Just like I can't be
So why am I fretting over this
I don't even know anymore
And I feel like I dug myself into a deep dark pit sometimes
There's no escape
And I'm sorry if my poems lured in more than just me and my emotions...
No need to jump in after me
To pull me out
For all it will do is pull you in too
And I don't want you to get stuck like I did
Trapped in the dark for the rest of your days...