My little Poetry Manifesto

I find taking a pen in hand and giving myself the freedom to resist a prescribed text can be a very cathartic experience. Allowing the pen to be taken, not on some planned outing but to follow instead the arbitrary journey of the mind in motion, as opposed to a set mental moment— this gives poetry a life of its own. Not so much any specific meaning, but the very essence of the poem’s existence, the point at which it becomes something unto itself. That is so liberating. It is the birth of a separate creation from one’s self. Once established, its meaning is no longer up to me.