My words are not meant

For prying eyes

For the eyes would burn

If they find what my words disguise

That treacherous ocean

From my last haiku

Isn’t what you think

My ocean isn’t really blue

That souring bird

With wings aflame

That’s me away from this world

That’s me playing my own game

My flowers wilting

And born of the night

They aren’t really flowers

They’re not for mere sight

The stories of stars

Loved by the darkened sky

Were killed by battle lust

Yes, I made myself cry

The boy with wings

The sun and his fallen lover

Show them in their joy

Before it was smothered

My words of numbness

Of darkness and death

Are an attempt to comfort

Those left by its theft

Because all my words

And poems in flurries

Are not mere words

They’re heart wrenching stories

The stories of this place

Are read by few

Yet it’s here we are all set free

For here is the place words are born anew

This doesnt exactly go with the prompt, but it’s definitely inspired by it. I got to go back to a lot of my old poems for this one, so it was really fun. In this poem I tired to show that not everyone is going to understand our writings. Some topics we write about, for an abundance of reasons, might not be understood or appreciated by others. But with every word you write, you’re helping someone. Maybe it’s yourself, or someone going through something similar, or maybe you just brightened someones day. But you’re always helping someone, and your writing is always beautiful and exactly as it should be, don’t ever question that. You, and your abilities, are absolutely amazing. ❤️❤️❤️