Do I look like a poet?
Does poetry seep through my veins,
Stinging the tip of my tongue?
Do I make you think of pretty sentences?
Associate me with melodies of the storm,
Do I look like art?
Am I worthy of words,
Worthy of your pigment in my life?
Do I shine like my metaphors?
Do you seek comfort in me?
Am I your muse?
Am I purely perfect?
Or am I brutal,
Am I hurtful,
Do I remind you of the truth?
Do I cry and yell like the thunderstorms?
Do I remind you of what you hate the most?
Do the ballads I sing sound more like the reprimands you run from,
The burdens that chase you,
Does my tongue kiss your soul with the sweetest of pleas,
Do I make you shed tears as I plague your soul,
Do you associate me with the winter sobs at noon,
Do I feel like pain?
Do my words make you bleed in black and white?
Do I slay like my zeugmas,
Do you run from reality?
Am I your conscience?
Am I cruelty in its best form?