Pains of the Trade
The ink on my hands is the poet in me.
And she’s bleeding.
She wants her hands on the page again
And is tearing me apart
To put me back together
Word by word on
Paper.
Letter by letter on
Page.
It’s an abusive relationship
She’s feeding off my discontent my
Sadness my
Emptiness my
Pain.
But she’s not adding to it.
And when the tsunami overtakes me
She runs towards it with a surfboard.
Doesn't care if I’m breathing or not.
But I have to be living or else
Where would her words pour
Out of?
The words on my wall is the poet it me.
Saying she’s never
Far.
The lines on my body and
Soul
Are from her
You should know
Us poets
Cry words, we
Scar letters
And bleed ink.
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