My feelings are real.
Not a hobby to express.
Connected to them I am.
Nothing I openly address to confess,
Is presented from a place kept superficial.
Oh how I wish,
There were times I depended upon pretentiousness.
I am left open to describe my experiences.
And as a poet I admit this can be a disadvantage.
Why?
Sometimes, as a poet, it is clearly exposed,
I don't re-read what I have written...
To at least edit myself 'before' and not 'after',
I have consented my emothons to flow so freely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This so clearly is true of any poet.