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…
thenaughtypoet 