Rhythm Me Blues…

I can’t remember the last time I wrote a poem, that rhymed.

My mind always formed bigger words than I could ever match with others, so I gave  up on the search.

I rather free style. Telling all I can within blank pages of the internet, expressing it all so everyone could see with no intention of it making any rhythmic sense, just mumbles of the heart unscrambled into words.

I don’t need rhymes.

I remember when I was younger, poetry was my passion, my escape. I use to walk around with a rhyming dictionary, that I still have lying around somewhere, venting on pages of spiral notebooks. Each thought had its own page, I’d start but never finish; flipping to another page each time I gained another thought or got tired of the previous one.

Now I miss the rhythm.

I miss the challenge of searching for something that matched the other. The joy of finally fitting it in like a completed puzzle or reading it out loud and saying, “Damn, who the hell wrote this?!”

Then again, I don’t need rhymes. They only lead into frustration, something I couldn’t bear to endure any longer.

So whats the purpose of this?

I have no flipping idea.

Maybe I’m just here to state that one day, Mr. Rhythm and I will reunite.


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