... is beautiful. I wish l could think of something to write. Most if not all poets l've listened to write from personal strife or trauma, while I... can complain of nothing.

Some poems, namely ones like "I Do", or "Letter to Sarah", or the infamous "To This Day" are powerful, emotional, and amazing. They speak ernestly through emotions that aren't rehearsed but always felt by them, so their strength is fucking legit. You listen, and you feel like bawling your eyes out and then punching a mountain down.

Some make you feel sad. Like, really sad. Like, "How can l ever compare to what some people go through" sad. You feel rotten being able to eat reliably, or have a roof to live under, or have a family that loves you because it is so much more common for people not to have the happy things we inevitably take for granted as a universal constant.

Then it hurts when you realize you can't really help much. Oh sure, you can drop a 5 into a homeless guy's cup (though they could be lying), or donate to a local safehouse, or whatever you want to give yourself that fluttering pride of knowing you might have helped.

The shit is still there. The stupid, bible-thumping, ignorant, woman-hating racist scumbags in the government are still there, trying to make absolutely sure that they cause as much trouble as they can for people who just want to be with their partner no matter what the fuck's between their legs. That every day someone is called a rainbow of disgusting names for their skin or even for having the wrong last name.


There really isn't much you can do about that. Doesn't it hurt?