People talk about poets so poetically,
Like they put the stars in the sky,
Like everyone just wants to fall in love with a poet,
Someone that will lay underneath the blanket of the night sky,
And read them master piece after master piece,
Of words in beautiful sequences with hidden meanings,
Hiding behind metaphors,
Of their own thoughts and presumptions,
But I feel like the truth is poets are just ordinary people,
That have been broken to extraordinary measures,
Broken people that have a way of making monsters,
Look like angels,
And making people long to fall in love,
Like they did,
With something so dark,
Poets just take their heartache to blank pages,
And comfort others that don't know how to describe it,
Making tragedies sound like art,
Making the sound of a heart shattering,
Sound like a symphony.
