Stuck On Repeat

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
poetry is dying,
because nothing sounds new.

No one ever writes,
about how they really feel,
for I am reading the same thing over again,
people starving and skipping their meals.

People giving into the blade,
people falling in love at fourteen,
people compelled to share their rape,
people giving up just to be seen.

When a new point of view emerges,
it gets bashed and dragged through the dirt,
not embraced for being a breath of fresh air,
but isolated and shunned till it hurts.

Then more of these topics appear,
pushing the deeper ones further inside,
making it that much harder for them to break free,
from the inner recesses where they hide.

The willingness to face the firing squad,
that appears when something is new,
is what separates the writers,
from the people just trying to break though.

And in a world full of posers,
the true poet is extremely rare,
so take a good look inside yourself,
and think before you share.

©
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