nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

How I Write - ORIGINAL POEM

I write the way I breathe,
I write the world I see,
In my head or before my eyes,
I write the truth, or pretty white lies,
I write and it comes easy to me,
As though its all I can ever do or be,
Possessed by another power,
To reveal what is, no matter how sour,
But other times its becomes harder still,
To write what I feel or my inherited will,
Its something even Shakespeare knew,
Of the inner critic and audience too,
So I write even when I wish the will to leave,
And allow me to wallow, to suffer, to grieve,
For I fear my power and mind will wilt,
In the face of an empty page, I feel such guilt,
Until something comes again,
A new topic to dissect and mend,
To spill my heart unto,
And finally lose myself to.