I guess this will be my confession
a transgression to imperfect progrssion
I'm taking all suggestions
if I can be a poet,
than, why can I evolve into a spoken word profession
why can't I let go of bringing papers to stages
like I easily letting go another Love chapter,
written on two pages
where is my passion?
I can start with ending as the beginning
speak with feeling as if it just happen
but had happen was
I still can't recite anything and everything that went from fantasy
now all my dried inks memories
is this my turmoil
is writing and posting poetry, is what is meant for me??
Question to myself, "why do you write"?
Do you deserve the right to be wrongfully delegated as a poet?
Are you just writing for the enticement,
cause your brain produces images, your pens need to eject inks
so later your paper can hold scribble, as after the laughter it would show it
who is this floet
prediction of common usage, like that of a pre-schooler
your phrases are short term, like you memory it wont learn
while your writes are as long as a wood ruler
Your not going to make it in this art
your creativity is just repeated thoughts with a different title
you can't even fall back in your seat during a interview
and give your critique or personal view
what or who is poetry is you muse, who do you claim as your idol
Now I lay my pen on to paper
I prayed my lines are as strong as the maker
if all mypoems replies is true to my face
then there one less poet who can make this mistake,
I stand in my own shadow
before the moon becomes full
and we will see
if I can survive 29 more days
and writing in bull......