Expectations to be strong,
Are supposed to show before I'm weak,
Only behind the illustration I write,
Can a wounded heart really speak.
With the ending of every page,
My doubts and yours cease as well,
You wonder why I write so depressing,
But I really write words we all have to spell.
Hidden amongst each verse you read,
Resides a long since tolerated pain,
That nobodies eyes would ever find,
But my words have their letters to contain.
Laying out the indescribable of your strain,
Painting an image you thought you'd never see,
Because we all find ourselves eventually in poetry,
I hope you'll find yourself behind the words of me.
©justin_ur
J