My path

Poetry can be subtle
Or it can be in your face
It can leave a trace
Or dissolve into space

Which of these do I do today?
It doesn't matter, either way
And yet it does - always both
Negative and positive are true.
In your face and subtle too
Who knew both could be true?

Fucking shit this poem stinks
Or does it smell of dandelions?
I want to start over but I'll keep trying
I made a promise once to never let
Any of my poetry be dying
Never to discard a piece
And so I stay true to that
The one commitment I have
And I'll admit, it's not so bad.

Emanuel