I'm a writer,
And not everything I write I write,
Instead it just wants to gather all the waste that was previously spread.
Waste of words received,
Inevitably if it is a pretense,
In things I didn't realize was happening,
And understand the things I must have experienced before.
And now I know for sure,
That not all are just pretenses,
But others are ways,
Towards a good destination.
That you know well,
That I do not take offense but this is the way to remove it,
Things that must be broken in the heart are turned on or off,
The heart is no longer confined to the minds of the bound and afflicted but to release it.
YOU ARE READING
It's a gift
Poetrymy love, my received feedback nor feelings. Some hurts. Some not. But considered as a gift to challenge you as a person. I hope you like it.
