Poets die early is something I’ve learnt today,
and honestly it’s not strange the realization that people
once broken, once damaged can make something beautiful
Edgar Allen poe ,freda callo, Shakespeare,
the creative types we know and love didn’t live long enough to watch their work flourish as much as it did,
and maybe that’s a good thing
if poets don’t feel pain
writers don’t feel heartache
painters don’t face struggles
who will ,who will carry the burden of generations on their back
if poets die young why do I write
why do I submit myself to something that can cause more pain in a world so fleeting
why do I self sabotage why don’t I take accountability
it’s like staring at the person who murdered my old self
the person who used anger to hide their pain
Who stopped trusting in her mothers name
But it’s ok poets die young anyway.

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