They say your poem doesn’t start
until you start telling the truth

Then we are all incomplete –
Unfinished rhymes and hollow lyrics.

My lyrics, the most hollow of all, fear exposure – Fear of this.

Cowardice kills better judgement and keeps its cursor static… Blinking.

I envision how a recital would go:
Honesty murders poetic drama, and the crowd stands in awe
Not of the art, but of the bloodshed that gave it inspiration

I really just want to write poetry,

but if starting means I must tell my truth,

I’d rather drop my pen and walk away.

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Photo Credit: Google Images:)
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