God bless the poets! The pollinators they are! The architects of the soul's garden, The rain-bringer of sleeping seeds, The ones who witness and testify The pain of growth, Applaud the blooming, And invite the bees.
if I talk it’s like I'm falling in the answer everything I say is a quiet question to myself sweaty hands messy hair baggy clothes harmed lips and eyes looking down
yet I do poetry but nothing helps my clarity
It does help, but who on earth wants an answer in rhymes and metaphors?