Wounds of the Moon

Tears of a poet

Sometimes I hate being a poet

I loothe the taste of words on my pen

The feeling of ink on paper irritates me

To top it all no one even understands

Being a poet makes you wild with thoughts

Weird with words

Crazy at heart

With a mind that is always burning.

Eyes that see the world in a different way

And notices everything they dont say

A mind ready to criticize everything

Irregadles of repercutions

Being a poet makes you too expressive

Often times regarded a flirt

Without care and consent.

Sadly no one takes you seriously

No one even bothers to read between the lines of your thoughts

Even after they read.

No one cares to get to you and know you

Even when they know you

You can wisper words of wisdom

Sow seeds of courage

Wipe stains of vegeance

Uproot the roots of doubts

Paint rays of hope

Give chains of encouragement

With beautiful bright colours

To the world of others

But never on yours

Being a poet makes you feel many emotions
Different from one word to another
Shed tears no one can see
Tell stories no man knows about
Make fun no one understands
Have a conversation with the air
Laugh with the moon
Chatter with the birds
Plan for dinner in the sky
And even sleep under the ocean

Being a poet is difficult
Because the world doesn't care
That you parade your thoughts
For them to read and enjoy
That you hang your feelings
For them to see and criticize
That you colour their sky
For them to enjoy and appreciate
That you care
For them to feel loved and protected
Only never to be replicated.

Tears of a poet