My heart spills onto the page
Through the words that you read
Through the letters I continue to write.
Venting in my only true art form
Continuing to hold myself high
As I refuse to cave in to my past.
I refuse to go back
To where this all began
To where I nearly didn't make it out.
I remember a time
Where I started my old methods
Coping wasn't exactly a healthy option.
Sometimes I still stay up late
And stare at the thin lines scattering across my canvas
Wondering why I decided to paint my story that way.
I still stay up
Wiping tears from my eyes
As I recall what caused me to do so.
The loud noises fill my head
From the rooms next to mine
As shattering and slamming resonates throughout the air.
I still feel the pain
Of the words that she said
As she slammed the door and ran away from us.
My life truly fell
The day those words were said
Yet I still pushed forward.
What for
I ask myself that daily
Yet I'll never know the answer.
Nobody ever knows the answer
Or the meaning of life
Or really anything along those lines.
People just think
That maybe things happen
For some sort of reason..
But what reason
Why is there so much
Never-ending pain?
Why is nothing
Ever enough
To please the entire population?
Why
Why am I not enough
Why am I not enough to make anybody truly happy?
Why am I not enough?
YOU ARE READING
K47 Poetry Book
PoetryJust.. All of my poems. Put into one place where I can share them without typing them up constantly. Please don't copy any of these, as I worked hard on them. Thank you. Note: If there is a writing where the title has asterisks (*) around it, READ A...
