It's not someone who writes poetry,
but someone with the ability
to create beautiful things
with pain and to hate yet love them.
I traded my soul for letters,
that I later transformed to words,
together they wrote out all my pain
but I'm starting to miss my soul.
All I have left is these broken w. o. r. d .s.
and I wish I could call myself a poet
but to hate something beautiful,
before you have to create it.
How can one write when one's words are broken
and one's soul is missing?