Death Of A Poet
I rolled the paper into balls
And aimed for the trash can
Because that where my poetry belongs
I broke my pencil into two
Yet I don’t feel satisfied.

I got my emotions
And poured them into words
But I couldn’t write the right ones
I took breaths and thought of us
But that only made real tears pour out.

My life feels like a joke
As I express my bleeding heart
To a piece of paper,
All my thoughts written down Just for them To be read in someone else’s thoughts.

© Poetic Neighborhood