Me.


The poetry that I write does not come from my head or even my heart. My poetry comes from my pain. Because in so many ways, my pain is my character. Without it, I wouldn’t understand happiness. Humanity pushed me to the truth and then they are obsessed with the denial of my experience. I have not, nor will I give into the cycle of words and assumptions. Nor will I set myself on the highest shelf. The poetry I write is not for the reader, but for the mind of the reader. At the moment they hurt or cry my poetry may be a living breathing life of fresh breath. When you can’t let go, let my poetry take your wounded mind and make it a ponderous heart. When everything stays the same, let my poetry be the truth that sets you free. Take no offense in my words, but in my intentions, for my poetry may convert you to a pain sucking writer, or it may leave my very own mind in your heart. I write my poetry, not for the enjoyment and entertainment of the reader. I write my poetry for the things that tear me apart the most.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem