Sitaaron Ke Aavaaz || poetry

t h e p o e t r e t i r e s

Now Playing: "Oh No!" -MARINA

──────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ────────

why do all my poems sound the same?
is it because i exploit my own trauma to gain the attention i fail to garner in reality?
or is it because i write solely for the fame?

are these feelings even real?
do they have something to say?
or is there no deeper meaning?
or do their meanings die in vain

because i'm too caught up in making everything perfect in everyone's eyes but mine.
maybe it's because theirs are dark blue and mine are grey and blind

why did i stop writing these poems to put out the fire that burned inside my lungs
and start writing to gain some praise and love?
i took my relief and turned it into my stress
But i never cried so there would be no problems for me to address

i drained the blood out of every artery and vein
just so i could write without feeling the pain
of my wrists giving out
and my mind eating away at itself
i could never be proud
because i never knew perfection itself

it wasn't talent that i lacked
but the validation that i sought
it wasn't relief that i gained
but rather appreciation that i bought
it ruined my joy
and turned it into a chore
but will i ever stop?
no, that's for sure.

The poet may retire
but it'll never going to lose grip
of the phantom in its head
that makes its purity sick.

Hi everybody, sorry for dying for like 7 billion years. anyways i thought i'd finally post the second last poem of this book (low key getting emotional rn), but thank you for being so supportive <3333 (also don't expect regular updates anytime soon)