Poetry, building up inside me.

It fills me up until my lungs explode,

It’s love, that brims at the seams as it sloshes

And it pours out, covering us when we need it most

 

Poetry.

It isn’t words, not phrases

Nor places.

 

It’s not a feeling,

Its life, the kind that we feel we need to share

The kind that speaks a familiar truth in a new light.

 

Poetry, it’s the first time your heart was truly broken

And your love dropped though your rib cage,

It’s the tears that stained your face because you refused to give up

Because something inside you told you to.

It’s pain.

 

Poetry, it’s a way to conquer that which seems too hard to defeat.

The path to forgiving yourself after everyone says you're just fine.

The love that you can't give because you’ve given it all away.

The pain you can't live because it will crumble one day.

Poetry.