My Ink


My ink

My vision

My soul

My words exposed for all the world to see

Color blind

No boundaries

Everything exposed

My world in a few short lines

Bits and pieces of reality ripped from my soul

My ink

Faceless

Nameless

Simple to some

Dismissed by others

Not true poetry

Awkward in form

The words don’t rhyme

My ink

Not Dickenson or Poe

To hell with that that’s already been done

My ink

Good or bad

Think what you want

It’s me

Who I am

And in reality true poetry cannot be defined

For It comes from the soul

And is written from the heart

My ink

My way

To hell with what the critics think…

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