Truth About Poetry

TRUTH ABOUT POETRY

Listen very closely
this place is a mess
by this place i mean inside my head
I guess words are all i have,
so i'll write them
Obsessively
over and over
all day long
hand hurting
head pounding from the constant wrinkled forehead
Ideas spinning around me
happening so fast
I can't take a breath
Confusion sets in
as if there's nothing left to hold onto
I catch my breath for a moment and look about.
Everyone is staring,
staring straight threw me,
I'm naked,
bearing it all,
everything,
on this paper,
with this pen