The first line is the hardest Then there is the second line that flows from the first After the third and forth I am lost Which direction do I want to go or do I try to stay the same course I rhymed all last words and the first word of each sentence is different to reduce repetition But there is always something missing It is like the words that come out are never the truth I feel Eventually I burn out Having to accept failure of expression, concept, and what's the word I am looking for... implementation? Naw, it has something to do with doing something right... oh execution Feels like my tongue is cut out Feels like I am repeating someone else Feels like I am using the word feel too often and I should relax and wait for something else to come out Oh, and out is too repetitious by now I am just thinking out loud Thinking out loud has to be stolen from others What's unique any more Everything is borrowed, stolen, and slightly revised and recycled Too far from the point aren't I? I lost focus on the main idea of this so called poem Forgive me, extraordinary ideas can come from the most ordinary people And if so, are they no longer ordinary? I hope so I hope ordinary is a paradox of it's creator I hope extraordinary is everything But, everything being extraordinary, does that lessen the value of extraordinary? Would it no longer be extraordinary? I hope not I hope everyone can find their place in this world I hope everyone can feel love, and be in love their entire life See too many I's starting a sentence Just mentioning it feels like a mistake Mistakes create more mistakes Vague I know, but it must be said Mistakes compound like interest Writers often get taxed by every mistake No one likes taxes To be blunt, I have to cut this short I have work to do, a meeting to attended I have a life outside of this world of mine Farewell. Peace. I can not be late.