If I keep writing, what will be revealed?
Nothing I'm guessing but it it seems I cant yield.

Am I a poet? Or is this a new fad?
All I can tell is that the rhyming is bad.

I don't know the rules or the technique,
But I can't stop the scribbles, no matter how meek.

It's a natural thing, a way to express,
But part of me just see's a terrible mess.

I am a dialectic, whatever that is.
Two opposites combining, one mind in a tiz.

A poet, an artist, a creative being
Married to a stoic, logical, seeing;

All sides of everything, large and small
No black or white, just grey over all

So that's where there is a difficulty,
For I know not what I'm supposed to be

But sometimes I feel different in my creative side,
This part is sure that it is up for the ride

But the stoic, the practical, the logical me
Reprimands my free spirit, say's it's best not to be.

A war has been raging inside of my soul,
One side of me buried like a lost blind mole

The other side leading with logic not spark,
We're moving and moving but still in the dark

If we walked together, trusted, believed,
Then there would be no panic, there'd be blossom and seed.

Together to freedom, together to truth,
Living in harmony til long in the tooth

Both sides need work and both sides need space,
But both will be represented by this one face;

Smiling and free, contented to be,
Who she is, who she was, who she ever will be.