My poem is calling out
It is nagging my pens to let it out
Constantly shedding the old verses
To adorn some new ones.
My poem is cultivating the how
The way to free itself somehow
From these obnoxious expectations
This mind has in place.
My poem is singing a lullaby
To these psychotic demons floating by
Helping marinate bitter syllables
With soft lyrical love.
My poem is reflecting on substance
It is giving the elusive light a chance
It is taking the healing hip tied to sharing
Without any goddamn apologies.
My poem is going through changes
It is being crafted to suit all ages
Customized to enlighten some
Who can later educate a larger sum.
My poem is flirting with freedom
It is leaking of the cursed wisdom
Life experiences have been dishing out
Allowing these wounds to bleed out.
My poem is looking back at me
It is mirroring the pain no longer free
To hangout all over my face
Eating away in some hidden place.
Crawling back to my pens. Refilling my inkpots. This is where I feel at home.