Ellipsis || Poetry ✓

02 April : the following poem does not have a name

This is my anxious poem.
My have-slept-so-much-yet-they're-sleep-deprived poem.
It wants to be written
But it's scared to be read -
(Most of all by itself).

This is my insecure poem.
My have-lost-the-way-and-blames-capitalism-for-it poem.
It wants beautiful metaphors to crown its skin
But metaphors don't come for free, see,
You have to dig for them, scrape your knees for them, pool in sweat and tears for them
And this poem is afraid of getting even its hands dirty.

This is my cowardly poem.
My afraid-if-their-opinions-even-matter poem.
It wants to tell stories,
But stories are judged by their weights,
And this poem is scared it'll be drifted away
By even the smallest of breeze;
Scared it will be scattered into a thousand pieces
That never fall back to the ground,
Never meet one another,
And just keep floating and floating,
Alone,
Namelessly,
Till it crosses the atmosphere
And disintegrates into outer space.

This is my desperate poem.
My 3am-but-not-the-slightest-bit-poetic poem.
It wants to be written,
It wants to be read,
It wants to be beautiful,
It wants to stay.
But this is my distressed poem,
So it doesn't.