I became

More venting,than poetry

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I became a poet for days like this,
days,
when It wasn't me who
did not understand life,
but life the one who
did not understand me.
days where I felt like my words
were a knot in my throat
and I couldn't explain my silence.

for times when I felt like I was too rough
to be held by fragile hearts,
and deep inside thunder and lighting
made me afraid of the force of my own anger.

for those hours of doubt,
when the friendship I had with myself
was lost on a one way street
and all I did was give pieces of me
and never take them back.

it was for all those nights,
when I was too naive
to understand my own movements in bed
when the smell of sex filled my room
and left question marks engraved
in the palm of my hands..

I became a poet,
for all those friends who
never saw the beauty
inside of their own beings,
and for all those teachers
who never knew they
were doing more than just teaching..

in the minutes of insanity when
the night felt like day,
and the day felt like night
and I could not find reasons,
nor peace
inside my pupils,
when my eyes were filled
with empty tears that fell out of blue..

I became a poet
in my solitude,
where I bloomed,
where I wept,
where I lived.

I became a poet,
for company
to not feel alone,
to always have
thoughts to keep me warm..

to love,to feel.

I became a poet,
to feel human
in a world that makes
me doubt that I am.