That’s actually not true-

         And neither is the idea

         That I have of you.

It’s much more innocent,

         Like that peace

         Before a battle moment.

More of these are hidden-

         The things by which

         We each are driven.

It is all survival,

        Within split seconds,

         The equality we are expecting.

None of my previous poetry

Felt appropriate to share

Then I suddenly remembered

That I can always write more.

Obvious things often elude me

While I’m walking on the clouds

Or hiding from the cold

Or drowning in negativity.

And then a burst of manic

Excitement and creativity

Simmers and pops the lid

Off everything.

Not knowing how long it will last,

I jump on it

And ride the wave as long as I can

Showing my tricks along the way.

I can always write more

I can always do less

But I usually choose to try harder,

Be a soldier and fill novels.