My talent’s a curse

I can’t even sleep,
On nights like these,
My pen won’t stop going,
The words just keep flowing,
I barely have space inbetween to breathe,
Being a writer has always given me anxiety,
But expressing myself this way has always come easily

And while I love it,
Sometimes it’s a curse,
All these emotions will hit me at once,
Making my brain burst,
But people call it my talent,
So I guess it could be worse

But having to have a pen and paper,
No matter what I do,
And not knowing when it’s going to hit me,
Are constant thoughts too,
Causing more anguish,
Truly making me sometimes hate this

Be proud of your talent they say,
But how can you do that when it’s painful,
A question no on will ever be able to answer,
Because it’s not what they themselves feel,
While it helps me get out my emotions,
It isn’t something that makes me heal,
Because my poems I go back and read,
Making me relive things and making my past ever so more real