(A/N: this is about my absolute love of writing and my refusal, though at times I am tempted, to concede to what will get me ranked, rather than what makes me .... well me)
i'm embarrassed to admit
that sometimes I get a little amiss
i try so very hard
to be an influential bard
but it seems that i get lost
and i guess that is the cost
when you write the way i do
people tend to scoot by you
i know that i write too much
and some of it is shit and such
but, really, should i try and contrive
hide and repress, what is inside
let the words and emotions build
watch as my inspiration is killed
or maybe i should just write the poem
the one that takes everyone home
spend days and weeks and months and years
perfecting the words, oiling creative gears
until i unveil my masterpiece
the undisputed golden fleece
but then, what if no one cares
what if all the wisdom i shared
falls like a tree in the forest
and i fail as a literary florist
so you can see my conundrum
its an emotion dungeon
so what is this old Poet to do
to be recognized by you and you
and
you
nothing ... i will never change
never play the game
concede even a small part of myself
put my convictions on the shelf
i would rather write in obscurity
then surrender to my insecurities
so, while others write in quality, fine
i will write in quantity, sublime
because for me to surrender so
would be to lose my creative soul
