Poetry to me is not some

Centipede

 

 

-Not just a little

Inconsequential-

 

 

But rather a place

Where I can face

 

 

The challenges of life

In strife.

 

 

Though I may mosey

Through this cozy

 

 

Existence of mine,

I see myself trying to find

A place where I belong-

Of course, I could write a song.

 

 

But I tend to sway off-pitch

And find myself in a ditch

 

 

Where no one can find me:

This is why I turn to poetry.

 

 

I can speak my mind

With imperfect rhyme

 

 

And even talk nonsense a little bit too.

 

 

Its where I can make my own rules

Despite all those fools

 

 

That claim my words

Shan't be so diverse.

 

 

I can frolic and shiver

Along any river

 

 

Of thought

As long as I remain to be taught.

 

 

With that being said-

Without any dread-

 

 

I end with a thank you to you

-(my ode to language)