I wonder if poetry is a mother,
deep and heavy and complex, but all the more simple at the same time.
Not everyone can understand poetry
But they know why she exists ----
sounds familiar, isn't it? Mother.
Then if poetry really is mother
then where's her child? Look closely,
isn't it you and me?
Because pal, where do we cry our tears through ink?
Where do we rant and ramble till we can breathe again?
Poetry is a mother who only needs to be contacted once,
And she always shows up in your darkest times----
even your brightest---- if you want.

She caresses till you smile,
and speaks till you can hear your heart beating,
and lies with you like a talisman
That keeps all of the troubles away.
Poetry is not always perfect ----
Because she isn't meant to be,
She doesn't need to be. Poetry,
is a mother,
And every mother is respectable and pretty.