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 !

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