What about pain?

Does the best art come from the worst pain?

If my mind is clearer than tell me,
why do these letters feel heavier to write?

I am thinking more rationally, aren’t I? 
Then why to I despise everything I write?

If love describes my life, 
why does fear reek from my art? 

Tell me why do I feel incompetent
without my pain, my crazy?

How can it define me, 
how can it be this visible?

Am I me without pain?

Am I an artist, a writer? 
Without pain! 

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3 thoughts on “What about pain?

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