Sometimes I wonder
if I should hang up
this straight jacket
that I label my art
the eyes that gaze upon it
seem to think I only dwell
upon the raw emotions
of pain that it reflects
like it is my only world
and maybe I'm starting to believe them
maybe it is.
a penny for my thoughts
feels of lesser value
I once continued
knowing that it only probably benefited me
a venting process
that helped me survive
and now I only question the advantage it gives me