My heart spilled out in words I could not say —
Written with blood dripped from thorns of disapproval,
On petals plucked with
Wishes, that destroyed the flower but at least —
They fell in a pleasant pattern at your feet.
Things not visible on my face —
Or maybe so if you ever thought to look,
If you ever cared to, if you ever dared to —
We could’ve written a book, a collaborative effort
To make a space for people like me.
A picture painted of love and lust and passion and mistrust —
Despite the time I imagined we spent together,
Somehow I crawled like an ant up a sand dune during a monsoon
Unrequited, though I told myself undecided —
As if I had a choice.
Emotions that I could not explain —
Obsession, compulsion, depression, despair
Laid waste to the page, my soul laid bare,
My depravity displayed, codified there —
For your condemnation.
– Written for Poets United Midweek Motif: Writing Poetry. Why Write Poetry? and/or What Is Poetry? Consider limiting yourself to addressing one poem rather than generalizing.
The poem I referenced for my response is called Depraved. It was the first poem I ever had published.