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Poetry, My Confidante
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On Poetry I feel like this charade
Is all kind of worthless
Because I’ve penned
The same recycled words
Over and over again
Yet they have no meaning.
Poetry is a friend in which
I confided for a while
But when happiness began
To outshine my pain
I abandoned her but
Now I beg for her return.
Long ago, my pain was
So deeply-rooted
Because I used to wear
My heart on the surface
But in time I have learned
To become numb.
And critical eyes await
My next work so I throw
This piece together
In hopes they will
Find some value in it
Although I see none.
So now the words seem
Contrived and forced
Like I’ve lost my skill
And the content on these
Pages sounds more like
Ramblings than art.
But the conviction for
Pursuing this craft
Is still as strong as ever.
So as long as I have will
I'll continue to search
For my long-lost friend.
