What I ink to my page is not poetry,
There is not rhythm or rhyme, nor reason.
The empire state is no structure to my art.


What stains my page is not creativity,
Squiggles and lines leave marks from my mind.
The blank canvas does not lead to my masterpiece.


Words are my patchwork quilt,
Adjectives and nouns thread together my memoirs.
There's no glamour in my prose.


What I ink to my page is not poetry,
nor is it my intellect or wisdom.
What I ink to my page is life.