What will I be worth?

Who will I be,

After I’ve bled dry on all these pages?

Who will I be,

When I have nothing left to confess?

Who am I,

If not made up of long-dead stars? And are stars still beautiful, If we can’t wish upon them?

If they don’t shimmer in the sky?

If they walk on land? Would I deserve the attention,

my work might someday bring me? When all I am doing is nothing but, lying my heart bare in front of all, free to be inspected, scrutinized, and judged.

And please tell me,

will you be kind or will you be brutal? When nobody will ask you to be nice?

While you sit behind your screen

and write your honest opinions?

Will you see yourself in what I write?

What will I be worth for someone, who only ever knows the words that I write? Who can’t see the price of a soul,

broken down to morsel sized pieces, Recycled every single day, surviving overuse.

And would the stars I have within,

be strong enough to face a reality where All my poems might be misunderstood and all my writings could be misjudged. When after all those nights of bleeding dry,

My thoughts dissected and castaway, my feelings copy-pasted but lost in the crowd.

When no matter how much I write,

hoping to empty my too loud mind, the words in my bloodstream,

never seem to end.

When the more I write,

the more I have left unwritten inside.

And what is left-

when the words don’t matter,

in this materialistic world where,

my love is discarded,

for it doesn’t weigh in gold, and my hopes left astray,

for it’s not a precious stone.

What would you think of me if I told you, I am like you, just another human with A heart as fragile as yours? What if I told you, your words matter Even if whispered under your breath?

What if you knew, you are more than enough for anything you wish to achieve? Will you learn to be kind when you know we all are hurt?

Will you choose to be kind if you knew we all have those days?

Will you be kind when you know the world deserves a little bit of that today?

-S