Some poems are like naughty children
Who have grown into their young adulthood.
They simply drop their clothes, a quick reveal.
Other poems are like the dancer of the 7 veils
Who peels layer after layer in the slow reveal.
A poem is like a beloved child, good or bad.
Some are happy, some are sad.
All are born from those who parent them.
Indeed, they are the fruit of our mental lions.
They carry our mental DNA 'til our dying day
And hopefully well beyond.
Claim them, love them, nurture them, train them,
Good or bad, naughty or nice, boring or full of spice.
There are no ******* poems for you; they all belong.
Each to its progenitor, each for its parent will long.
Boldly claim each one of them as your own.
For they are all our children.
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