Dear Metrophobia,

“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.” ~ Joseph Campbell
Dear metrophobia,
I used to love you once.
But now I don’t.
I used to sit and think sometimes, why poetry even existed.
Dumb to many but not to me.
Cuz you see, I thought I was no better.
Even today I don’t think I can write poetry.
Even though, according to 10 sources on google, I am writing poetry right now.
And all the while, as my fingers delicately type these words,
My mind does not correlate.
Even though I have a special section in this notebook, specially titled “poetic”,
I do not feel poetic at all.
Rather, I feel like a fake.
An impersonator, I may say.
It’s embarrassing to even begin to retail how many hours I’ve stayed up to search how to write poetry.
Yeah, like that really existed.
Hours of sleep I lost.
Fighting this battle with my own conscience.
A battle that I still can’t win.
Sad to say that I still sometimes think, why poetry even exists.
And then I stop and think again…
Poetry is like the battlefield inside my head.
Poetry is that bucket of water waiting patiently to turn off the flames in my heart.
Poetry is the friend. Not the enemy.
But even as I write that I do not believe it.
Cuz why would something so good, be so painful.
Blood gushes out of me as I type certain words.
My heart starts a race, without my mind’s consent, as I type certain words.
So, dear metrophobia,
I used to love you once,
Nut now I don’t.
Because I am going through a struggle, through a battle.
A battle that I know will bring sweet indulging satisfaction after I finish.
So, dear metrophobia,
I will no longer be tied to that word.
Although I only had a slight dose of you, it felt like I drank the entire bottle of poison.
It burned for a while, but poetry has the bucket of water to cure my thirst.
But I thank you for showing me the true colors of poetry.
Thank you for the long nights, searching what poetry really was.
Thank you for making me fear not loving poetry….
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