In everything I do
Berate me
For everything not perfect to you
Bash me
When I make a human mistake
Just leave me
Your time is long overdue.

Break
Break
Break
Break
Break it
Broken
Braving the
Open.
Sudden.
Opportunity
Sees me
Repeating cycles of
Toxic masculin
It teases me
Poisons
Seeping in
Claiming what’s mine
The mind.
Weakening.
Beginning again
A grinning ‘been there’
The light singeing my hairs
As is breaks through the skin
Bleeding
Breaking
Broken
A break in
Rhythm
So break
Break
Break
Break
Break it
Broken
Braving the
O
Again.

Saying what I mean is
hard but structure
gives it meaning.

Syllables into lines
into stanzas
into song into x+y+z.

Formulas like algebra
critical thinking, where
to go planned before the start...

Freeform yet ordered,
words chosen and weighed.
Equation balanced and yet unfinished.

Deeper meaning, or surface?
3.14159....
How long is a poem is a life is a word
is a problem?

I write when I feel the need // To fight // Against myself
War inside // Two enemies // Never sure of what the other wants
A tango of emotions // A struggle of feelings
I pickup my pen // With the intention to win // Suddenly it now ends
The struggle is over // My emotions are released
Now I can go back to bed // Time for another day // To do it all again

jasmine jostles
leaves fold

I watch

steel and glass contain
assuaged by structure

the wind blows
but not here

Brick
        By
            Brick
A house is built
Hour
        By
            Hour
The house becomes a home
Day
        By
            Day
The home turns into memories
Year
        By
            Year
The memories turn into people
Century
        By
            Century
The people turn into stories
Story
        By
            Story
Stories turn into legends
Legend
        After
            Legend
History is changed
Piece
        By
            Piece
Lives are changed
Person
        By
            Person
Love is spread
One Love
        After
            Another
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.

Is it words?
Is it rhythm?
Is it emotion?

Thoughts just jumbled onto a page,
in hopes that they match some literary device?

Structure.
Or imagery.
Parallel
                          ....lines?
Outside of
                                  ....the box?

But what's a box besides,
                                        What we make it?

Why can't we take
                our perspective,
                shift it    
                          ,
                                around
                                            And change it?
Write poems for,
                          a
                              new (or even all of them)
                                  generation(s)?

They don't have to rhyme.
Or make sense.
Or even be legible.
As long as it helps you, isn't that enough?

"But others read them too"

But they don't always.
Some poems I write on my worst days.
They're
            bad.
They don't,
                  rhyme.
My handwriting is.........
                                      crap.

The words aren't
                          even eloquent.
Putting
            them (my thoughts that is)
                          down to paper helps
                                    me  though.  (or is that too selfish)

But what
                is a
                          poem (a real one)
anyhow?

I guess I'll never, really, know.

a complement of three legs
kept the realm in a wobbly
modality
to have had a fourth one
would give an upright
totality

as this important limb
was missing in a forgotten
land
the locale disintegrated  
like a pan of moving
sand

the domain being beset by
ills too many to
mention
hence the citizens cried out
for another pole's
attention

a trio of pegs weren't
stable nor
strong
they did violently
shake minus the quads firm
prong

sometime in the future
the whole thing might just
brace
if a solid pin is attached
onto the
place