I don’t want to mask my poetry

I want you to understand me

Curse your perfect rhythms, rhymes, haikus

Your lyricism, your literary

When I try to adopt it, I turn mute.

Something channels through me

(I’ve never really found the root)

A demanding stream of consciousness

That cannot stop to breathe, let alone

Wait, conceptualise, draft, redraft

I can’t!

...

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Peppercorn eyes or was it peppermint eyes, does it matter?

Something...orginal eyes! Something blazing eyes...something dreamy and crapper.

Yes, so he tasted of morning breath and the blandness of saliva

but just write that he tasted of strawberries and hope because that sounds a lot nicer!

...Wait... stop! The ryhme is off!

Can you have more ryhme this time, less variation.

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