I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.

I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.

I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.

I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.

I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.

I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.

I don't mean to cramp your style...*
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.

some believe in the deity
others in the sanctity of self
I think poetry is a religion
a soul unto itself
not a god
but close
and I seek her his its
calming words
wisdom
to get on my knees
and worship
every night
alone
here
in my sanctuary
like any
true believer

The curse of a writer is that
every word jotted down
is a reflection of every beat
the heart ripples through the body
that harnesses waves upon waves
of emotions from here and there
and the best part is that you will find
yourself there too
no matter who you are.

They want to escape, they cannot
but find a way to embrace the subject
of the matter with words that morph
stanzas into finger pointing
comments that strum your chords
and wait for the echo to die out
with the last period
on the last line.

Today is one of those days where I don't feel like I am.
I am aware of my existence but I wish I wasn't. I feel like I would be better off as a mere thought, drifting through life for a while and eventually disappearing into nothingness. A forgotten memory.
I'm too simple to drift along this earth as a person, and sometimes I can't feel things the way others do. Everything makes me think I am too different. Too useless, too distracted, too alone, too selfish. I wasn't made to live like this.

At times I feel happy. Happy with life, happy with any twist and turn life would take me on. I feel like I could accept anything, and anyone could be my friend.
Today is not like that.

Today I have trapped myself in a bubble and I don't wish to come out. I wish I could go back in time, fading from teen to child to infant and eventually I'd crawl back in to my mothers womb until I vanished into nothing but a memory.

with this new day came
with more oxygen and  brain
with more tingling
with more you

off the suns rays brightening
off your face lovely
off these eyes of mine
off into my mind

where lovely is
where it really is
where beautiful resides
where love sometimes shines