At a sudden point in my life,
I understood why God gave me so much pain.
Why does this pain never leave?
If it had gone far away from me,
I would never have the strength to write such poetry.
My words might have remained untold,
Unreleased.
But God chose me to write them,
To share them with the world.
Now pain is like a strange companion,
One with whom I can rise to the sky and touch the moon.
Without it, I can’t even find myself.
Our bond is both bitter and sweet—
I need pain to write.
It may sound strange,
But it’s my truth.
I don’t want the pain, yet I need it.
A little pain can give birth to a whole story.
It’s like a drug—
Without it, I can’t live,
And with it, I can’t live either.
It is a slow poison.
It kills me inside,
It kills me outside,
It kills my childlike self,
It kills my vision of the world,
It kills my truest being.
But one day, this pain will fade away,
And then my ink will dry,
Leaving behind many unsaid words.
Yet, you will find them in my notes,
In my poetry.