here I go again

picking up my pen 



I became a poet

with nary a clue 



I would always want

to scribe more 



verse to speak

my heart clearly 

writing lines of heartbroken verse
across the scars of what was once 
my flesh and skin...

my life in ink
made of tears

my soul in poetry

and the author is the one
living the verse as it is written 

perhaps writing poetry

is not the most fruitful 

of professions...



And in a capitalist society 

that feels often like a crime...



still I cannot imagine being

anything else else I would 

quite surely lose my mind.

Understand that lifting the pen

to weave poetry upon the page 

is more than writing for writing's sake,

it is releasing the emotions for others to see.



the best part is when your verse

inspires others to lift their pen,

creating poetry unending.

though it is my lifeblood
there is hours when 
writing poetry can be
more than I expected.

the truth in the verse
is a ton weight on 
a fraying rope 
hanging from my mind 
making each word
heavier than before.

Paint the page
pen the words
poetry in heart 
put to page.

write what the soul
needs to say 
for no other reason 
than poetry must be.

perhaps the dedication

to the art of writing poetry

comes with a certain mindset.



For not all understand

the flowing freeness 

of the verse,

the delicious structure

of the form.



And even amongst those

who do write criticism 

is rampant still.

As the ink flows

the poetry is lighter than prose.

writing poetry

seems to release 

emotional turmoil 

that prose does not.



though I enjoy the pen

lifting for prose 

poetry is the release

I so often need.

the ink will dry
              faster than
tears fill the ocean.

writing for art
             feels better than
writing for emotion.

so I think I
             will write my poetry
for sake of poetry.

removing the weight
              of love, hate,
joy, and sorrow.