People are like clay.
We can mold to adapt.
We can change how we look,
But not what we are made of;
And if we are left uncared for
We become as hard as rocks,
And that's the tragedy of living.

Poetry
is all around me
It’s in the things
I touch
the foods I taste
the air I smell
the wind I hear
It’s in the beauty
of nature I see
And yet
I confess
  sometimes
writing poetry
becomes
such a struggle
It’s like literally diving
with a blind eye
in the sea of words
searching for
a speck of gold
This is no laughing
matter I tell you
It’s virtually like
life and death situation
Suffocating
no air to be found
like a shark
out of the deep blue sea
Because
it seems
at times
Sometimes
oftentimes
that all I want to write
to make poetry
extraordinary
undeniably
uniquely mine
Has already been written