Poetry is a valve of mine
It sticks out the small of my back, waiting for a twist
Pressure builds and builds, and waits
A giant sitting on my shoulders, crushing my spirit
Until I sit and think, and the valve is opened
Poetry flows into my life, whether on a page, or in the world
Like a book I am opened as the world opens to me
The beauty of a rainy day, the sadness within a sunny field
Truth flows as a river through me, and I am gifted a ladle
To draw life
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