Hard limits

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

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