If I could write poetry
If I could write poetry, I’d write words that resonate within people and fill their minds with empathy and sorrow. Poetry was always my least favorite subject because taking my emotions and putting them down on paper is next to impossible when I can’t even grasp them in my head.
When the anger or the sadness doesn’t make any sense; it has no rhyme or reason. There’s no pattern-only inconsistency and it drives me crazy. If only I could empty my brain a little, take some of the weight off my conscious and spill the feelings out into something other than a jumbled mess. Something that someone else can look at and relate to mind, body, and soul.
Sometimes I feel like no one else on the planet. That the things I feel don’t make sense to anyone and I get the sense of there’s something not quite right. A puzzle piece missing in my design and the grand scheme of things is incomplete and always will be.
Some days, my thoughts are very overwhelming and it feels like my head will overflow and bust. I haven’t decided what will be better; the emptiness or the release.
But it won’t come out in flowering words or soft sounds. It will be ugly and loud. It won’t be filtered through rose colored glasses and shadows crying in corners but sharp black and reds and hair pulled out with bloody fingernails and wracking sobs.
I wish I could write something beautiful. Instead, all that comes out is pain and frustration and to me that’s not poetry, it’s something that should never be said.
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