The Only Sonnet I'll Ever WriteFormed poetry stifles creativity.
I don't wish to be in captivity.
Why sacrifice my inspiration
For some sort of verbal congregation?
Rhyme does not make you a decent writer.
It's about heart and being a fighter.
I write not to test my skill, but for change.
I will not limit myself to this range,
But utilize free verse to show the way,
And mold the writing world as it were clay.
I write for my ideals, not for a contest
With myself to see if I am the "best"
That I can be; but what is a writer
Without a need to make the world brighter?
RememberInside my self,
There is a place
A place of pain
All these things I've done
All these pointless things...
Just to later reflect and wonder
It made no sense,
But I did it anyway.
I shared a piece of myself
With so many people
And for what?
There's certainly none left now
And sometimes I think there never was.
My body was used
And I let it happen.
Why would I do that to myself?
These are not words
Of self-pity or loathing
But those of relection.
And words of hope
A hope that next time,
I'll remember these words.