Poetry wasn’t a choice.
It showed up at my door
like a small, rabid animal
I needed to nurture.
Like a scar,
like my eye color.
Before book sales,
before applause,
before anyone gave a damn.
I was jaded by color.
Sunsets weren’t cute.
They were edible —
pink and orange,
soul food.
It burned my tongue,
made me breathe deep,
made me want to capture them
with words.
Pain had a smell —
lonely, bitter,
like stale beer,
familiar before it made sense.
The world rushed at me —
too loud,
too sharp,
too close.
Poetry was how I survived it.
Pen and paper,
faithful and warm.
I don’t write for followers
or fame.
I write because
a blank page
was never an option.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 15th, 2025 09:55
- Comment from author about the poem: I just posted a new long-form reading on my YouTube channel — the first half of my short story Whoops! along with two poems, There Was a Time Without the Internet and Under My Bed. If you’d like to hear the pieces read aloud, here’s the link: 👉 YouTube Reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kq0UTaJahjg All my books are available on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/stores/Thomas-W.-Case/author/B0CL2RKDGX?ref=ap Thanks for reading and for all your support.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 34
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Friendship, Megan Blaney, arqios, Kevin Hulme, freyaaa
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Comments7
Excellent write, Thomas! Well done, my friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
I appreciate it.
You are most welcome, my friend!
To write to live or to live to write is the question. A gritty poem about poetry on the hard side. Lovely Thomas
Thank you.
Most welcome Thomas
Sometimes you just have to paint the picture as you see it.
Thank you.
Well written
Thanks
You're welcome, my friend.
Good write Tom.
I appreciate it.
Anthemic and primal 🙏🏻🕊
Thank you.
Welcome
I think we can all agree on the Sentiments here .
A Good Write.
Thanks.
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