Blast

How foolish to ever say I am stepping away from poetry.

The nerve of me.

I am a poet, I am an “on fire-poet”

I have things to say, and I must continue writing for the snow that needs plowing.

My soul’s kingdom is overflowing.

I am, releasing this magic.

It needs to be expressed.

It is the opposite of drastic, that I write these poems, that may or may not be everlasting…

My soul, needs to be expressed – even if it does not include all of the best wisdoms.

It needs to be expressed.

It needs to be expressed.

I drink coffee with the emptiest.

I write poems, for the sake of seeing the words align, come together, form.

I think that I have mastered all storms.

My mind can handle any stress.

Yes, it can.

My fingers, creating, and drawing.

My consciousness is sharp, served as a pen.

I am no longer a lion, I’ve adapted and have risen as a panther.

I am a dancer, my soul acts as a lantern, guiding me in the darkest of valleys.

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