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.
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