I will write down words

Try to affix them to a structure,

Mercilessly slash away phrases

To make it rhyme with rupture.

I will shove into it words

That make this sound smart,

Embellish it with the fancies,

Turn it into "art".

Force it within boundaries

Of rigid rhyming schemes,

Scribble out sentences

like they never belonged to me.

I will squeeze it into a rhythm,

Easier for people to read.

Again, chop off a thousand emotions

To make it end with "greed".

I will sculpt my thoughts as such

They are programmed to impress.

My art is not my peace,

It's a measure of my success.

"It could be crafted better",

"It ends so abruptly"

I will make it concise, into a masterpiece

Far from my intended reality.

At last, I have the perfect poem,

Making me worthy of being called an artist,

I had poured my heart out to ease my pain

To have to conceal it was the hardest.