Why Do I Write Poetry?

I don’t write poetry
I live it, I dream it, I speak it
I think it, I see it, I feel it
I feel it in the rhythm of my pen against paper
In the strokes of my keyboard
An imaginary accord
In my choice of rhyme scheme
And if I added a hip-hop beat to it
Do you think it would be complete?

I see it in the fluid motion of the dancer’s feet
That moment when we lose ourselves in the heat
When we see with our souls
And feel with our hearts
An exotic encounter of seemingly mindless banter
When you can wander in a discordant crowd
And still see order and calm
For if a picture can say a thousand words
Allow me to say a thousand more

In my poetry, I’m never right
Then again, I’m never wrong either
It matters not if it’s north or south
And nothing about it is uncouth
Nothing defined, nothing defiled
I don’t have to think twice
Because there’s no one to revise my verse
Hold that thought
Can I say it in reverse?
It’s pure unadulterated design
A precipitation of my own creation
A proliferation of my emotions
Delight, disappointment, disgrace, despair

It’s here that I am me
I am completely free to be
I know who I am, I realize where I stand
And reconcile my naivety
In this place I can say what I feel
And feel what I say

I can build my dreams, I can tear them down
I can imagine and I can drown
Deep breaths drawn and held in
Then slowly exhaled
I have total control but still manage to lose myself
No inhibitions, just endless priceless exhibitions
It’s not about what he said, what she read
Or what they did
It’s candid, it’s lucid
It’s about me in all my honesty