Why do I write poetry

Why am I always so sad

I tried to write a happy poem once

My sister said it sounded like a goodbye

 

I invent words to name my different traumas

I craft stanzas to organize my pain 

Metaphors hide a darker meaning for me 

A line I'm proud of turns into a meeting with the school counselor

 

Why does my coping strategy

Open up countless Google docs

And fill those worn out notebooks

Why am I always scribbling when I feel any raw emotion

 

When the inspiration comes to me

in the moments before waking up

in the moments before I question it, 

I write.

I write

And write

And write

Until my fingers bleed from gripping the pencil so hard

Or swiping and tapping at a glass screen 

 

Why does it have to be poetry? 

Maybe it would actually mean something 

If I showed anyone

But the poems leave me feeling 

Naked and hollow

 

Because everytime I write,

I put a little bit of myself in the letters I string together

I worry that soon

There won't be much of me left.