I have read loads of poems
and books
in order to get some inspiration
poems that are consumed by lovely words
speaking about the very first love
and being so tremendously delighted
but how can it be
that I always ask myself
why I cannot write about these things
and why it is even harder for me to read it
my mind might be stubborn I guess
or maybe I am not ready for this
but then I remember
that I have experienced nothing else but abusive and toxic love
with nights full of tears and sorrow
and the worst heartbreak
so how could I write about something
or even endure writing something
that I don’t know so far