Being a perfectionist makes poetry writing a never ending story!

It isn’t that it has to be perfect, so I can receive some kind of glory.

It is something inside of me that can’t leave well enough alone;

Second guessing every word, to find it’s meaningful home!

I know I’ve always been this way, questioning the value of my worth;

Perhaps in my youth, I was humiliated when I failed to present good work.

Through some act or deed I had failed somehow, and my face went red with shame;

But, I learned that my feelings though hurt, would recover just the same.

My heart has always led my life, destined to be a poet from birth;

I write to right life’s social ills and to fight for ethical worth.

I will continue to critique, though urgency guides this poet’s hand;

There is so much injustice, and little time, please join me and make a stand!

By Karen LaFountain


Categories: Poetry And StoriesTags: , , ,

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