My First Aid – Day 185, Never Give Up On Your Dreamz

Every poem is a bandaid placed on a wound until it heals.
Blood drips,
And drips,
On a page onto the next until the stains disappear in what I call a field,
Of dreams,
Our souls manifest against all odds.
To be a poet means,
To put an end to your facade,
And,
Face everything that makes you cry.
Until you smile internally,
Externally.
Excavating every ounce of pain you’ve buried deep inside,
Of a heart deserving of happiness.
More so peace.
A balance in a mind,
Ripped into pieces by everything that’s happened in the last,
How many or so years.
To be a poet means,
To not fear.
The monster we’ve fed without ever knowing.
To understand how that monster can suffer defeat,
Through the very same pen you’ve been holding!
This entire time…