What is it, when you throw your heart and soul onto paper.
When you bleed out in the form of words.
Showing your deepest emotions,
Feelings, desires, secrets, for the world to read.
Letting complete strangers judge your life.
Throwing up the contents of your heart from the end of a pen.
Giving up what it means to be private.
Hiding meanings behind the words, to be picked at like vultures at a corpse.
Bloody and bruised is how the critics leave you.
Everyone has something to say, only words do not sufice.
Sacrifice.
Poetry.
Life.
Poetry.
Music.
Poetry.
Love.
Poetry.
Reading, writing, thinking.
These thoughts of love and hardship, put down to paper.
It sounds amazing, yet the meaning is ignored.
It does not have to rhyme, sound good, or even make sense.
The poet knows the meaning.
The reader is the guniea pig that runs the maze.
The scientists take notes on what to say next.
Beware, it will eat your soul.
Thought.
Poetry.
Sex.
Poetry.
Writing.
Poetry.
Pain.
Poetry.
Poetry is the music you hear when your conscience knows best.
It is the though of ethics from inside your chest.
The beating of your heart against the rest.
The love of your life who has passed the test.
The meaning of life is walking to your own beat.
Moving your feet to that beat down the street not knowing defeat because it is your life that you carved with that knife and made yourself who you are today.
No regrets.
Poetry is life in its deepest meaning.

02/08/2008

Posted on 02/08/2008
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