Why is it with poetry

I can go on and on for hours

Yet with a book

I can’t write past the first chapter?

 

Maybe I was born to be a poet

Maybe I was destined to a life full of pain

Maybe my life exists so I can read out my pain for all the world to hear

Instead of made up fairy tales that have happy endings

Maybe my life was made for my disorders

Maybe my life was made to be terrible so others could feel better

Or maybe you simply made my life this way

 

I wanted to be free of you so bad

You come back and haunt me with all the memories

And those memories gave me multiple disorders

I can’t blame you for my stress

But what I can say is that my stress was caused by all of that

 

Do you like the pain you’ve caused me?

I can almost see your reaction

You crying in my arms and saying of course not baby I didn’t mean to hurt you

 

Yeah well fuck you

Something I’ve wanted to say for a while

I wanted to say it to your face but in writing will have do so here it is again

 

Fuck

You

 

Now if only I can mail that on a letter to Arizona