Poetry & Me

My soul is filled to the brim; I'm made of poetry,

Each time I write,

I pull out a poem out from inside me,

Like a thread long lost,

Like a long forgotten memory.

My muses change constantly,

Some still in my life,

Who I cherish with all my heart ,

Some who left my life long ago,

Unaware a poet's love follows them like a shadow,

Unaware that once, in the dark , they were the muse to someone's poems,

Poems that are not so much as glanced upon now ,

Why ? Because once , they held too much of my heart hostage.

I bleed my heart out ,

I bleed out the words,

I bleed onto the paper,

Like a fallen soldier,

And they called it poetry.

Poetry spoke to me like a spirit,

Ever since I was seven,

Then , I was haunted by thoughts I had not just yet learned to express,

Now , I drown in my own words ,

Nonetheless, I hold no regrets.