Partial Artist

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I want to be strong
Not honest, not wrong
I want to be a fighter
Not a failed writer

But words aren’t tough
They’re beauty and love
And rhymes aren’t cool
They’re a poet’s tool

And alliteration adds
Another aimless nomad
Now a nameless comrade
Cornered in a notepad

Stuck between the lines
Saying “I swear I’m fine”
But these line guides are
Like a set of prison bars

Feeling useless, chest tight
But we do not write
Because we desire thus
But instead because

We have to, we must
It burns in our gut
Like a morphine injection
We’ll survive the rejection

There’s no way to be strong
Behind the lyrics of a song
Behind the ink on a page
And pretence of a sage

Behind the symbols that evolved
From the runic marks of old
That fill the books on the shelf
Caked in dust, little else

Behind the words with a goal
To pierce deep into your soul
Do you know? Do you know?
What these symbols show?

I do mixed martial arts
Well that’s true in part
I’m a poet with doubts
Who got defeated by knockout.

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