When I embraced art for art’s sake,
I wasn’t prepared for heartache.
I thought I had a thicker skin
To shield the fragile poet within
But learned how easily I bruise,
Held captive by the world’s reviews.
Seeking escape for my aching heart,
I find refuge in the arms of art.
One of my metapoems written in 2013. What author hasn’t felt this way at some point? Peace to your ♥!
Serendippity 