Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

If you are to leave, let me know not
If you shall will to say goodbye, don't
Instead, pack your things and leave
For I cannot bear the pain of your words
And I can only compare them the pain to a stab by a dagger
For what we had greatly invested in would be over
And moving on would be too hard a task
No explanation would befit such cruel an act
And no tears would wash away the pain
Though I'll still mourn and weep a river
If you are to leave my lover,
Just pack your things and leave
And let me be, let me weep, let me be
Just pack your things and leave

Bedroom eyes
tell lies of salvation
found between sheets.

Come, come...
We both know
you won't be saved here.

You're two? You're twenty?
Doesn't matter
Have a phone
There's plenty
Get stuck in your own little world
Get lonely
Shut everyone out
No sentry

It's the twenty first century