“Someone once told me, to make sure I feel my pain…”

Someone once told me
To make sure I feel my pain,
Emotions are a spectrum,
Not a fire to be tamed.
And now here I was again,
Playing it safe.
Mediocre love for mediocre pain.
But the truth cannot hide
Behind the practicality of my brain.
The hopeless romantic, the girl on fire,
The poet smiling at the rain,
They cannot be contained.
Even if in light of pain,
And seemingly hopeless wandering and days so same,
A bolder life, a wilder love,
None can deny,
The vision’s a gift from above.

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Writing is like prostitution.
Selling your soul to the page.
Just as I begin to feel some emotion,
In the midst of my crushing sadness or miraculous contentment,
I think,
This would make an amazing poem,
And there I am,
Grabbing my journal and letting all that’s human in me go away
For the sake of one hundred, possibly decent words of writing.
I find it better to be overly emotional more of the time;
It makes the words flow better.
And that’s how we explain
Why all artists are insane.

“No Love, Just Heartbreak”

It’s hard to breathe when I love you but can’t have you,
But I really start choking
When I realize I don’t love you so much,
Because if I don’t love you,
What do I have?
What do I hold on to?

Devastated. Ripped.
My emotions torn from me.
I’m left alone in the dark
Of a miserable alley in a meaningless world,
Forced to be consoled by the idea
Of a knife in my back pocket for defense.

And I know,
This passion is all distance and a busy head.
When we meet we are in discord,
We are in love, but we are not in sync.
Our paths are perpendicular lines,
Never to meet again.

And yet, I can’t help but be heartbroken,
Over a love my heart will never hold.