The poets curse

I bare the brutal poets curse,
of analytical tendencies,
that have me questioning it all.

I feed the urge to fall,
into exaggerated emotion.
to experience all feeling

I hold the fatal nuisance,
of having to be hurt
for my art to evolve.

I feel the horrid pain
of seeing bitter tears in words
and letting strangers take it in.

I suffer the nightmare,
of recurring writers block
and feeling uninspired.

I have the fierce curse,
of living with a gift,
that makes things feel severe.

But I wouldn't change it for the world.