In Search of Poetry

It's all
your fault

I can't seem
to write anymore

You make me
so happy

You have given me
everything I have
ever wanted

Thus taking my ability
to drown deep within
the darkest corners
of my soul

I can no longer
bring poetry back
steeped in longings misery
to pour out of my lungs

They say
at the touch
of love we all
become poets

But that could not
be more wrong for me

You see

Poetry is a
thing of beauty
but it is more
a reality of pain

Poetry has
always been

Fragmented
Failures
of my
voice

Broken
shards of despair
and sorrow that consumed
my every breath

Hindered every heartbeat
slowly blood turned to ink

As we poets die
to live on the
page of souls

Poetry does not mean
the same as it once did

I use to mix
ink and tears
blood and cum

But in truth
I am ... I was
the fractured
damaged creature
who only thought
she knew what
poetry was

What
love
was

So now

My fingers search
out those spots

Changing the
current in my veins

As I learn
to write

From a place
of love as I am
no longer

Searching

Searching for
my missing half



By Samantha Pruitt

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I agree and understand these words.
"I use to mix
ink and tears
blood and cum"
We need emotions and battle to write poetry. The Hemingway life is needed for us to write down the words and thoughts. Thank you dear Poet for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Q.]

This part touched me

Poetry is a
thing of beauty
but it is more
a reality of pain

You hit it right on point. *Bravo