Squeezing oranges - undiluted self, pips and all

I write, I pour out my angst,

My guts, my blood.

This is no way to earn a living

It is an opening of the heart

For no reason, but passion.

The need to create,

To let the energy flow.

Not because the world thinks it's worth a jot.

But because such outpouring

is beyond its creator’s control.

I do not ask myself why be creative?

I ask myself, how can I stop?

So judge not, if crap flows.

Or at times worthy insights emerge.

The need to pour

Oneself undiluted, 

good or bad

Is a call to be alive

All must answer in their own way.