There Is No Poem To This Poem. Poem by Rita Shay

I am sick of trying to sound beautiful.
Transform my thoughts, flowing and musing together inside my head turn into something beautiful sprawled out on a page.
I think I'm going to try writing words just as I say them.
Raw and untouched, exactly as I am.
I am tired of chipping away my granite statue in all its imperfection and magesty. I don't want to look back at my painting and grab the brush, hastily bloching out all the ugly parts.
Everything and everyone wants to fit you into their idea of just right.
They all want to make you ' beautiful'
And fit you into their box.
They really do.
I do.
But I am done.
And now my thoughts unravel, spinning and throbbing, making their way in black down a page of white.