Pain to Poetry

I could ask why everything about me had to be so small

why I had to be the stool people stepped on to make themselves seem tall

I could ask, why was I the daughter born with a defect people can't see

why did I have to be born to strangers who couldn't see me as family

I could ask why I had to be the one who's fire got snuffed out before it could start

why was my first paint the tears from own heart

I could ask why my veins had to be above my skin

I could ask why it feels like my entire life is the remix of an old sin

I could ask why I had to be the "who not to be" story to my nieces and nephews

I could ask why people could know my pain and still act brand new

I could ask the Lord above why he made me to feel and love and care about everything the way I do

I could....but I already know the truth

He knew I'd be the one to write these words and

the one who needed to read them would be you.

Because no matter the shitty hand I may feel I'd been dealt

there's someone out there dealing with their own hell

and he made me to create

so that maybe my words could reach them

before it was

too

late

and I can tell them this:

Knowing your purpose won't make the cost of walking in it any cheaper,

and no matter the hurry, you don't demand the reaper

so read it from me,

EVERYTHING, we are....

is made to be poetry.