No Romance in Suffering
Don’t feed me poetry about the way nerves sing when they burn,
There is nothing pretty about pain,
There is no romance in suffering
Lonely is like cold water
And drowning is not beautiful;
Gulping thick expanses of salt and lake is not art,
It is lungs filled with poison.
So don’t tell me
Falling under is like falling in love
Or that splinters are stitches to keep skin from floating away:
Pain is only beautiful when lessons are learned
When choice is available to make it so:
The surge of expression–
the art, the poetry, the song, the dance–
that bleed from pain can be beautiful,
but don’t make out pain itself to be so.
Art can be of suffering, but pain itself is not art.
Annee Clark is a seventeen-year-old aspiring author who also enjoys acting in theater as well as singing and playing her ukulele. She began writing as a young child, starting with short stories, and is now working on a fantasy novel reimagining the fairy tale of Little Red Riding Hood called Red as well as a poetry book which will (likely) be called Freckles and Constellations.