It's Strange
It's strange
How poems can be so different
At different times
How words flow differently
At different hours
In different states of minds
How sentences seem more beautiful,
More passionate,
When they're created during fits of emotion or in the early hours of morning
Yet, in a calm state
The words are much more difficult
To string together elegantly
So I've just stopped trying
And let words come freely
Because they're a part of me
And you can't force the words
And you can't force my feelings
And you can't force me
I'm not sure what it is, though
Maybe the spiraling depression
Maybe the fear of death
Maybe it's everything
That just makes my words
Seem so much... clear
But I sit here
At 5:15 AM
Thinking about how much more beautiful this could have been
How poems can be so different
At different times
How words flow differently
At different hours
In different states of minds
How sentences seem more beautiful,
More passionate,
When they're created during fits of emotion or in the early hours of morning
Yet, in a calm state
The words are much more difficult
To string together elegantly
So I've just stopped trying
And let words come freely
Because they're a part of me
And you can't force the words
And you can't force my feelings
And you can't force me
I'm not sure what it is, though
Maybe the spiraling depression
Maybe the fear of death
Maybe it's everything
That just makes my words
Seem so much... clear
But I sit here
At 5:15 AM
Thinking about how much more beautiful this could have been