you give me heartache
pain
suffering
bruises
wounds
battle scars
and i turn them into poetry.
i turn them into pretty sentences,
poisoned words tasting sweet
luring you in, taking you closer
come closer,
come closer.
read these words
that are decorated in pain and beauty
read these words,
but you do not know the weight they carry.
the weight on my shoulders that breaks my back everyday,
the weight that is the reason i'm on my knees.
you enjoy the poetry,
goosebumps coming across your skin
at what these pages say
and they do make the earth shudder
and the ground shake
but take a step back
and it is no longer beautiful
it is terrifying.
take a step back,
and look at the poems.
really look at them
and tell me it is still pretty.
it is not pretty
it is not beautiful
it is a tragedy
it is bleak and dull and painful
what things have us poets had to experience
to write such things?
you enjoy the poetry
you love the poetry
but look at it from the author's point of view.
yellow is the color of the sun
and you relate to the sunshine
the warmth
but too much of it
and you burn.
so much words
so much poetry
so much blood
sweat
and tears.
you read the poetry
but you do not understand it.
no one ever asks the poet if they're okay.
and i can tell you,
we are not.
we are not.
but we are glad
that you see beauty
out of our suffering.
