Shall I dedicate myself to a beautiful insanity
Or shall I suppress my curiosity, creativity?
You can only go so far within syntax
Poetry, I discovered, forgot it long ago
When emotions did not coincide with grammar
I am a poem, oh yes, I can be a poem
Must I seek the value of a reader
When I can exist as my very own?
But does that mean I am ungrateful for life,
Throwing aside my blessings,
Or is it my own experience
That truly is to live?