Unlike Now

Trembling hands
nervously hold my burdens
as words travel through my veins
the weight of the world beckons me
and though the pen is too heavy
I have no choice
I have to live
I must write

I hate poetry sometimes
I hate how it spills my emotions
like blood onto paper
soiled
with anger
with pain
with sorrow
with tears
I hate it
yet my only wish is for the pen never to run dry
so that I may write another tomorrow
one unlike today
unlike now

The inspiration
seeing it
living it
the toll it takes on who I am
sometimes
a song
a picture
or just another day
often times without a reason
and like a wound that refuses to heal
ink courses through my soul
until every thought and emotion pours forth
my hands continue to shake
terribly
trembling from the weight of the fears and hurt that life offers
today’s story that must be told
knowing there will be another poem
on another day
there is no sympathy for my soul
only turmoil buried within the moments I live
and I write
because I am poetry

Oh my... I can identify... as your words fill my mind I'm inspired to write... every day, in every way, no matter the substance, my soul compels me to expel the emotion... what would this journey on earth be, if not for our life blood creativity... to touch and be touched... if only in our dreams...

I couldn't have said it any better.

You certainly are Poetry...What emotions bring out is unreal, and definitely touches another when they read...'to touch and be touched' is right...

Thanks Ainjel . . . it's an amazing feeling being able to write something that touches someone and then have them touch you by appreciating what you write.