Feedback jeder Art The poet

[Porzellanschreibt]

You say you like my poems 
That it fascinates you 
how our views differ 
Which is a nicer way for you to tell me 
I’m overreacting 
Don’t worry, I don’t like my poems either
They are almost never good enough and sometimes I hate the way a gentle stroke of a cool summer breeze against my porcelain skin in the midst of summer brings me to tears
These riddled monologues, whispered from my shaky fragile lips, spending hours and hours making my suffering sound beautiful
decorating wounds, painting beautiful pictures only for them to be hanged on the walls of a burning home, that is my heart
I try so hard…
spend hours and hours on a coma!
Looking at your eyes, I realise once more, my heart isn’t enough, one heart isn’t enough, I need all the hearts in the world to properly love you
Yes..
I am actually just trying to say I love you
In a dead language
Left for you to desipher
Why can’t I just talk like normal people? 
Why do I need to draw words from my heart like blood from my veins
Words always win? 
Such a Brason lie, they almost always lose
I should have learned math instead
Cause, recently I’ve lost *count* of my wounds