letra de the struggles of poetry - st. meave
poetry floods my room
the beauty between each line
the rush you get when you create the perfect rhyme
and it just seems to fit perfectly fine
almost like if it was destined for you
almost as if this was what you were meant to do
my pen flows on the page filling every line with dark ink
dark like the sky once the clock strikes midnight
i randomly write and i take flight
it’s a beautiful sight
what if it were go to waste would i be forgivеn or would i be hated
for the wastе of pages and talent that i so effortlessly apply to my paper
i’m shaking now, what if it’s not as good as i wish it to be
will it not make sense what if i’m deemed as crazy
poetry fills my room as scrunched up b-lls of failure
i try to rhyme with each line
worried they will get board and close the book and never take another look
the rush i get is beautiful but dangerously powerful
poetry fills my room
the beauty that’s created that will never see the stars
the wasted talent that will always shine below the stars
never able to join the greater beauties in fear of judgment
stuck in a cage of eternal confinement
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