Poetry
Prose
It matters not
what I decide to write.
I think with the thoughts of a poet.

I live. I laugh. I occasionally love.
This outlet keeps me going.
It keeps me sane.

Perhaps it’s pretentious
assuming that this a viable outlet,
but it just flows.

It’s not particularly hard.
It doesn’t take much thought.
It’s simply nice.
Easy
Flawed, but beautiful

Like humanity itself.
Perhaps I am pretentious
Sitting here drafting this on my Mac Book
Hoping this makes sense.

Maybe I’ll read this later and decide I hate it.
Maybe I haven’t had enough coffee yet.

Or maybe this is honest and gorgeous.
Maybe this is exactly what I should be doing.