Had I been

Had I Been I woke up, drenched in my emotions. Had I been— Had I been with a sinner, I would have never questioned my sins. Once a sacrosanct soul, now a pillar of guilt. I prefer to paint my own world, rather than let anyone paint it— and wash it away. Had I been with a lover, I would have never known what it takes to love someone. And in despair, I was beyond repair, for I have loved loneliness as much as I have loved wilderness. Had I been in love with my visage, I would have never asked for opinions to stitch my imperfections. Had I been silent, I would have never learned how loud I could be. But aren't we mere puppets of our destiny? Had I been a theist, I would have never known mankind. We have lost humanity in search of individuality. What are pronouns when held against our nouns? Well— death is unknown, so why don’t we make our love known? Do you think life exists beneath the green carpet? So, why don’t we smoke poems and blow our minds? Poetry is a realm— a place where few belong. A lot of them are in novels, Veiled in characters. It’s the disguise novels keep, and poetry is naked. Poetry speaks the unspeakable. It lives in the spirit of the writer, the vessel of their thoughts, the ink of their veins. Poetry is a madman toying with minds of men And oh— had I been a writer, I would have chosen to be drenched, time and again, in words.