I like my poems with random verse.
It cannot sound much worse
than to hear those stupid fools
with all their myriad rules.
Trying to make me write with "skill"
and me, I think I've had my fill
of their critiques, their nonsense words.
I think I may have actually preferred
them not to mark my things at all,
but rather, they've all had the gall
to tell me how to live my life.
I'd rather cut, with razor knife
my very soul, than to make my image fit
what they themselves will never admit
has no personality, no style, no class.
On their ideas, I'd rather pass.
But for those, who'd like to speak
for my reviews, it's you I'd seek,
to not judge the Way, but rather the Why.
Who'd rather live, and rather try
than to follow rules so blindly.
So please, very kindly,
dont touch my stories, or my visions,
and let me make my own decisions.
Come sit a spell, and weave your tale
just to let you know, im not for sale
my work is always my own
If you've nothing worth saying, leave it alone.
Come, and sit for a spell,
the others to hell.
I'd love to hear your voice
but i'm afraid I've got no choice.
So goodbye, my unknown audience
never forget to listen, in the silence
for the miracles that work in the dark
and light those brilliant sparks.
Of ideas, and dreams, never crushed
and masterpieces never rushed.
