It’s nice to feel listened to

It’s nice to feel you’re heard.

And with the art of poetry,

My paper hears every word.

This art of mine, uses lines

To illuminate emotions.

And from my pen, the ink explains

The pain of being broken.

How am I to analyze

A thing I only feel?

I use my art to write it down,

To somehow make it real.

And when the pain from life itself

Can be put into words,

That is when my imprisoned despair

Can then be freed and heard.

So when the lows of life persist

And strength is hard to find,

I use my ink to tell my paper

What’s been on my mind.