It’s Only Poetry

If they ask how I was able to turn
pain into beauty and bring
their darkness to the light,
tell them it was only poetry.
Don’t tell them how your name
still swirled under my tongue
no matter how many times
I fought to swallow it.
Don’t tell them about the nights
I spent locked inside my mind
and how bitter charcoal
was the only thing to save me.
Don’t tell them how I wore
the darkest parts of the night
and walked hand-in-hand
with demons and insomnia.
Don’t tell them how I plucked
the stars from weeping eyes
and tried to barter them
for wishes and some sleep.
Don’t tell them how I lived
between the darkness and the light,
just tell them I lived with poetry
tucked beneath my skin.

© Nicole Lyons 2018

32 thoughts on “It’s Only Poetry

  1. When Poe said, “If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul; you haven’t experienced poetry.” he did not mention the ripping apart that went into the writing. Chances are he too would have said, “Its only poetry.” The transmutation of pain into beauty is the alchemy of poets. This is magical.

    Liked by 1 person

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