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.