Second Poem

Sometimes we get called crazy.
Sometimes we get called fake.
We are told we are not real artists
Because how hard can it really be
To string a few words together?
When I can express myself
Through pen or typing
I feel myself breathing the sanity
That I lacked for too long.
My words make me feel real
To this world where I sometimes
Feel that I am drowning in.
7.2 billion on this planet
And I'm the only one that can
Assure myself that I am breathing,
That I am alive and no one else
Can do that for me.
Yes, poetry is very convenient to write,
But cannot be written without
The passion of life:
The most real and sane thing
I have ever felt.