With every damn rhyme I channel the Bard.

As I sit quietly before this screen,

I seek to dig deep. And sometimes it’s hard

To find my way inside; I bounce between

Emotional highs and lows. The hard heart

Often wins out, and when it does I cry

Out in pain, remembering that this part

Of being a writer of verse can try

My patience, senses, and nerves. I often

Wonder why I suffer the agony

This life choice puts me through. I could soften

The edges of the hurt, but then I’d be

A different writer. The goddamn sonnet

Is my lifelong passion. I’m stuck on it.