Back to Basics

I’m at this point

as a writer

where I don’t understand poetry anymore.

I used to write

just to write;

to make images in my head become real things,

words in black and white.

I laughed when I wrote,

my rhyme was in step

but now

I feel pressure

that everything has to be connected

to a larger meaning, a higher purpose.

Some things

just don’t rhyme.

A scab that I’m peeling can’t just be a scab.

It has to be my confidence I’m uncovering

or a romantic relationship that is taking too long to heal.

A rain storm that I’m stuck in can’t just be a rain storm.

It has to be a challenge I’m overcoming

or a sign of bad things on their way.

Sometimes when I forget about comparison,

I start to take myself less seriously

and decide that I have nothing to prove

I ask:

what’s wrong with roses are red, violets are blue?