No matter where one travels in this world's great sphere
Some person
Somewhere
Is better than you
In every possible way.
The thought scares me.
A nest of horror awaits with this thought, in fact
Because poetry is my only anchor to this life, what keeps me here
Dwelling among the living and their unattainable desires.
Without the practice of poetry, I am nothing
Feel nothing
And I thought
Without me
Poetry would be nothing.
Feel nothing
Amount to nothing.
But someone will always use poetry as a crutch
Skill is no question
In this haphazard dance between the line of truth and untruth
And they will wield it better than I ever could wish to
And I guess that's okay.
Because poetry is in here and now
The air I hardly breath
For it is thinned out under the pressure of impossible expectations
The life I struggle with
The caged bird wishing to fly free, pecking at its restrainments
This is the boundary in which poetry dwells
And without mouth nor eyes
Hands or feet
But a heart sewn of ten thousand writers' hopes
Poetry holds me close
The same way it would for a person of better talent than I
And I guess that's okay
Because it keeps me grounded
From flying away.