The Art of My Poetry
I sit alone, like always
Emotional mixed feelings and dreams that things will some how work out. My life so misunderstood that I'm living for improvement. Or something simply better.
For change when things just remain at a level when I can hardly keep my head above all this mess.
I'm laid off from my own compassion to fight against anyone. I work hard punching my own time clock with bloody knuckles. I work hard for improvement, just wanting to be noticed, understood and loved by someone who actually cares about what I have to say.
I've explained my feelings a thousand of times with a thousand lines of my poetry.
My Subliminal thoughts adapted to my means to an end. To do not only what needs to be done, but what must be done. For me, my voice, my emotional categorize words express who I am.
This is my blueprint, parts of my DNA, my art form of poetry.