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?