Poetry is...

The thump! thump! of the heart

The pulse of the veins and the words left from the day

My pains, sorrows, fears, loves, temptations and faiths are described in my poetry

A lyrical compilation that needs no beats or harmony, as my heart and my crescendo are rhythm enough

The angers and frustrations I must keep in for society’s sake are brought to the fore when I speak

I break you down respectively with my words and leave you with lessons that you failed to learn

I delve into my own sins and while they show on my pages they are accompanied by tears

While my Bible reaches to the dividing of my soul and tears into my bones and marrow, my poetry is the mop that cleans up the mess

I thrust myself into my book of words and am relieved that it is off my heart and no longer hanging from my brain

Poetry, ironically enough, cannot be described in words

Like trying to explain the origin of languages, how it shaped people and experiences

It’s impossible to define and almost a waste of time as poetry is what you make of it based on your heart murmur, your fingerprint, the strands of hair on your head, the way you bop your head to your favorite music or the way you cry and laugh.

To me, it is the lyric for the musical incapable and the scripted for extremely shy.

This is why I write, because it doesn’t make since not to