my heart hurts as I read poetry
my heart hurts when I imagine all the greatness I have not read
my heart hurts as I lay in my bed
and imagine where my life is going.
the tears that refuse to fall from my eyes
stemming from literature, or is this a lie
I push on myself I do like to read
and yet I am in a program that would value studying seeds
over the haunting words of Sylvia Plath.
this isn’t a joke, this is my life
I don’t know where I’m ending, I only know where I am heading,
my heart hurts.