The Art Of My Pains

The Art of My Pains


The art of my pains 

is in the blood stain ink of me

while I write day and night 

to give insight of me that bleeds

while the world reads,


this is my own battle cry's 

that are left in my mind 

I see all the dead souls around me

while I dream darken pains

of those days of rain

that hasn't gone away,


I was born in a painful storm

the memories stayed with me 

oh, how the pains had cut me deep 

the words that hurt made bigger storms 

I hold my breath like I was dead

thinking it would all end,


I now realize as I got older 

you cannot fix anyone 

that don't want the help 

so why in the hell did this life paint me

and put me down into a devastated storm 

the past has away to paint my life gray 

this is the art of me that bleeds.


Poetic Judy Emery © 1985


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741