An Artist of Words

Once upon a time, there was an artist of words

Her twisted lyric captured my young mind, undeterred

 

Never before had such art caused crystalline tears to fall

Eagerly I gripped my own pen, writing on the walls

 

I savored the words, succulent and sweet

I found that this elegance was my only retreat

 

My mind ached, insides had rotten

But with this, my troubles were soon forgotten

 

I scrawled on the page day by day

Words of self-hatred, a pitiful display

 

Although the subject was sour, the outcome was sweet

They commended my work, a spoiled treat

 

And with moving words, they teared as much

No, I couldn’t be just like my mentor, but I wouldn’t want as such

 

And after all this time, self-hatred had blurred,

Because once upon a time, I am an artist of words

This poem is about: 
Me

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