The Magic In Hard Things

A poem in tribute to the darker side of creativity

There's a sadness to our own becoming
Grief is a part of the uncovering

There’s a reason things were hidden
Still we create to release the forbidden

Progress is not a linear direction

Shouldn’t our return
be a Midsummers celebration?
Fairies and feasts and reveries
Joy to last for generations?

Lets romanticize our bleedings on paper 

Blood couldn’t sting 
if its adored by others, its praises cha-chinged?

This is no path for the weak
A self-flagellation on repeat 

A heart so full it runnith over
But love is not the only thing it leaks