poetry
to keep non-poets away
that is not for me to say
i am here to help you see
the arts are always welcoming
you need only find the place that makes sense
in your own soul
everyone can poem
everyone can paint
everyone can act/sing/dance/make/
do
if you want to
if your drive is to express yourself
[it gets complicated when careers and livelihoods are at stake,
but art for art’s sake —
that is always for
every
one]
the mornings i have something to say
but really only the concept at hand
sans the ability to say it
are the weirdest mornings for me—
i can glance around
and be inspired
by the puppy
or the pillows surrounding me
or the music pounding itself
into the beats of each
heart
thump
thump
thump
but i won’t ever be satisfied
with the potential
when i know a full universe of poetry
is hiding somewhere inside of me
if i could only
access it
find the key
to my very being
it would come spilling
drip, stream, rushing
pushing poems upon poems
with each press of my pulse
on a lettered key
but i feel lost
i feel in the dark in my own soul
i feel like i may never know
my inside insights
in full…
experiment
with expressions
express the self through
the lens of an outsider
how much kinder
would we be
then
everything
is flowing
outward
lately
externally expressing
but internally fluctuating
between
i need to get this out
and
no one should ever see this side of me
and yet still
nothing i do is ever good enough for me
(so how could it be good enough for others?)
the problem
with this problem
is i am not in others’ heads.
i can judge my own work based on my own standards,
but judging it based on others’ standards
is basically just guessing at their
likes
and dislikes
and backgrounds
and assessments
and training
and i can’t get an accurate read.
and as much as i’m afraid of other people
i do wish i could be in their heads
at least once
to see what they really think of me
(so my brain can stop obsessing)
(and [maybe] let it all go)
kipventures 