What does it feel like when you write poetry?

like my whole blood-soaked heart
came out and lay throbbing
in my palms,

like love requiems
and emotions converge
competing for their space
among my words,

like feelings could
be poured
into vessels of all shapes
and sizes
until everything overflows,

like his saying my name
could be caught
in its act
and repeated
till I fade away
with the memory of it,

like poetry
is but a reason
to remember
who I am
what I will be
if I were not here, now
what part of me would still be missing.

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