To Haiku or not,
We wrangle words for a sport,
No need to stop short.

Line for line,
I write my thoughts down,
Scripting my inner
Monologue.

Thought by thought
I turn them over
My motivations and intentions;
My driving dialogue.

I poke, I ****,
Scrutinise and summarise.
I leave them and walk away
And then I catalogue.

I cry out on the inside:
Why can't it just come easy
But that's perfectionism
The *****, I want to flog!

This road doesn't grow thin,
But gets deeper within.
Or is it like a diamond, 
Compressed within in the smog?

Life is but a whisper,
The volume is built in the heart,
Long before it enters the mouth, and
Henceforth carried by the atmosphere.

I am enough,
I am tough,
I won’t lay down without a fight,
I am bright,
And if you don’t stop, I’m going to get rough!

You are nothing,
You are smothering,
You try to spread lies,
To make me panic and cry.
You think you're big, but I know the One who is enduring.

So I look to Him,
Breaths calm, anxiety falls back from the brim,
I can change,
I will focus on the feelings that don’t feel strange,
But on the One deep within.

The king of eye muscle surgery
reins
Although my eye wound weeps
and complains,
He has helped me see one
Therefore, I cannot be glum
So I'll kick my heels up and count my gains.

I used to think,
Joy was the absence of sadness;
Of fear, suffering, and
Fault.
But now,
I see joy as
Embracing pleasures in the pain;
The simple and sublime,
The now and not yet.

People, people everywhere, but
No life I enjoy.
Disinterest feigns my heartbeat,
Where is my joy?