Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
I sit down at my desk
Placing trust in these keys
My world comes alive
As blood surges through me

Every letter I punch
Each stanza I create
Transfers a piece of my heart
Across this paper--my stage

An audience who relates
Commending acts of my play,
But never a witness behind scenes
To an emotionally intoxicated Hemingway

For the performance you see
Is my truth and it takes toll,
But reliving memories while writing
Is worth touching my readers' beautiful souls

© JL Smith

— The End —