I could write a ballad,
I could write a sonnet,
I could write a villanelle,
Or I may peacefully reside in Hell.
I could write about nothing,
And it would be eaten up like air.
Please. Please. Don’t idolize me.
Some say I’ve a calling –
Others say it’s appalling.
I could follow all my muses –
Until I become insane:
Emily D. said,
“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.”
Maya A. said,
\"Nothing will work unless you do.\"
Sylvia P. said,
“Out of the ash. I rise with my red hair. And I eat men like air.”
I could write about nothing,
And it would be eaten up like air.
I could live in the free-verse realm,
And idly spend my days.
Or I could branch out and set my gaze,
to the human rights, to the human sight –
In a meter, or a form, or a rhyme,
Or a storm.
But I’m only writing right now
Because I feel I have something to give.
I don’t know if it’ll be a temporary fix,
To my sadness, to my madness, or to my chaos.
But I’m only writing right now
Because I feel I have something to give.
I could be wrong –
But I feel – I sense – I perceive – I smell – I taste –
That I have something to give,
Because to put it short – we all do.
You could think I’m a narcissistic brat,
For even writing this –
But - I’m audacious.
We were born to spread our wings –
We were born to focus on self from the beginning –
“Survival of the fittest.”
But don’t take my writes about embracing self –
Like neglecting others – always stay humble AND love others.
Love to poet, mother, brother – Mother fu-
(This is just a message to let your pen go wild - and your mind go free.)
I don’t want to be idolized – I don’t want to live in fame.
I only write because of the voice – that won’t stop inside my brain.