You Ain't A Poet

 

You ain't a poet till the pain out weights the price
And it would be far kinder to sink a knife inside your heart
But instead
Fool girl
You write.

Everyone likes a happy rhyme
Of sunny spring days
And the scent of thyme
Rolling over fields of emerald green
But that ain't real
And that ain't me.

I have learned that beauty
She’s bred inside the soul of the insane
You cannot be a martyr without suffering
You cannot fully comprehend true joy without suffering the greatest loss
You cannot give all you have
Until you understand that you have absolutely nothing to give
And then in wisdom
You give your heart and soul and blood to bleed instead

You ain't a poet till you've been broken bleeding on the bathroom floor
You ain't a poet till you cry out from your soul
That you just can’t take it anymore
Then you hear the voice of God
As He whispers
Child, just keep going
There’s beauty on this road that’s meant for you

So you grab a pen and paper
And pour all that brokenness into even lines of distress
And it's beautiful madness to those who recognize the truth
That poetry is letters scrawled in the blood of the soul
A poet dips her quill in teardrops and scrawls a line or two
And you ain't a poet
Till you've been there too.

 

 

By Amanda M. Burns

© Amanda Saylor nee Burns. All rights reserved