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Because She Allowed It She Was Destroyed

one summer she attended a poetry workshop
upon invitation of some writers
and wannabes like her

her name is poetess
modest
shy
truthtful to every word chosen by her
in the poem that she chooses to
read before them
these writers listening to her

after which
the chopping begins, the stabbing knife, the slices of her self
the sharp teeth biting her to pieces
the slapping criticisms of her works
her poems her life
she was bleeding to death
they have no inkling to save her
she shrinks
like some sundried raisin
she shatters like some broken glass
she shuts up
she runs away and throws all her poems to the trash can

she is ugly she is a witch
since then she never wrote again
because of them
these writers ahead of her

she was the object of their ridicule
she was utterly destroyed

because she allowed it
she had known better

that one should write
because one must write
not for anybody else
but for oneself alone

one need not even win
or excel
one only needs to write
because you love to write
because you must
survive this love of your life

your poetry, now.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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