I used to write sense,
I used to write feeling.
I used to pour my heart
and soul into the lines.

I followed my instinct
went with the flow.
Words were like magic
impossible to contain
each sentence wild and free
yet unavoidably attached to me.

In the days, weeks and months,
even years that passed
it's form changed.
From wild and untrimmed
to neat and structured.
From emotional and giving
to restrained and contained.

Now I write attentionseeking
wordweeping
orderly verses.
In my rhymefactory
in trajectory
to planet authours ought to.

What a shame,
it's not the same
as it ever was
or ever will be
anymore.

Bleeding eye sore,
it matters to whom?
It matters to me,
because these are you see,
these are my children
by creation.