I sacrificed myself for the art.
I came and then stayed.
Unwelcome, I give up myself to thee.
For thee looks at me with paper thin eyes
Hoping to get more out of me.
A rhyme, a degree, to show.
I pushed aside my lengthy paragraphs
For short squares that are forced to impress.
Leaving you stunned by its immaculate taste.
Words alone aren’t enough.
All I need is a pen of somewhere.
And a surface that can stand
This blood shot, this gunshot of literature.
You tell me to stay traditional
Like a man saluting to a golden statue
Which he must obey because he has no will
And no power to fight against that force
That should be as a free sky but a solid ground instead.
I will write whatever. You will judge whenever.
But whatever I give will be pure.
For this is what poetry is made of.
Joshua Burton is a student at the University of Houston. His major is in Creative Writing with a focus on poetry and his minor is in Women’s Studies. He loves the Japanese culture and the works of Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, and Louise Gluck.