Intellectuals say simple things in hard ways
But artists say hard things in ways that are easy.
Does this have some significance to anything?
If it’s true then what manner of sense do I bring
To the world with my writing? I don’t want to be
Verbally enigmatic. But do I need praise?
If it turns out I’m needy then am I someone
Who will run from the rain yet take well to the sea?
Am I one who thinks of injustice only when
It is happening to me? What can I do then
To evolve into the person I want to be?
That I’ve erred is my life then pure retribution?
Poetry is what happens when nothing else can
In the moment. When the heart has something to say
It must say it in whatever language it speaks.
Self-expression is all that the happy heart seeks.
I can manipulate words as if it’s child’s play.
There is nothing wrong with my being my own fan.
About what matters in life I still am learning.
As a student I look up to those who are free
Of this schoolhouse and who also help me to write.
Channeling information brings me much delight.
Now It’s become my Hip Pocket Philosophy.
I trust that my desire becomes ever burning.