I don't think in music.
I don't think in lines.
I don't think in canvases.
No. I think in rhymes.
I don't speak in eloquence.
I don't speak in prose.
I don't speak in coloured tongue.
No, it's rhyme: I chose.
I don't laugh with use of tongue.
I don't laugh with voice.
I don't laugh with just my mouth.
With rhyme, I made my choice.
I don't think without the rhyme.
I don't sleep in hush.
I can't go about my day,
Without its gentle push.
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You may call us different,. Guess different, that we are,. A freak, you may, express that way,. Won't get you very far,. We're the ones sat in the corner,. Of the blazing party lights,.
I'm just a writer, Expressing my thought. Writing down what's in mind. I'm just a singer, Expressing emotion. Singing whatever I find. I'm just an artist, Modeling my feelings. Trying to be kind.
All I see is anger Writhing in my head Burning, churning Hot, bright red You wanted Poetry. Come along You may just see I'll show you Everything I've got Will you take it. Maybe not.
My poems are thoughts. That come from my mind. Some of them dirty. Some can be kind. I can write fiction. Or even the truth. My sexual poems. Go through the roof. Sometimes you won't like.
My poems are just doodlewords, They don't take long to write. I observe the world around me, By ear, by nose or sight. By then my brain has started, To note a line or two.
M usic, a huge part of my life. U niversal language for all. S ounds that help, calm or ignite. I t's magic never fails to pull. C omfort from pain, always something to gain.
It's late at night. But I had an urge to write. Sometimes I get these itches. Ripping me like broken stitches. So I make a rhyme. To past the time. Or because words start to flow.
It's all just words, And it's all just ink. But it's really much more, A lot more come to think. It's letters and sentences, It really is my heart. Writing is my future, My end and my start.
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