Boundaries

I’ve learned that my poetry can have no boundaries,

I used to make it conform, one small space that it would fit in

Now I know that line counts don’t matter
Where you place each letter is a choice
There are no true critics when it comes to art

Art is unable to be judged

And yet I know that someone will be upset at my writing,
How I forget to care

Life has uncrossable lines 
I call these my prison from expressionism

Let me be clear: expressionism isn't an invitation to be coarse

In poetry, these confines are gone 
I think that’s fine

I used to write myself boxes

Now I have been freed from my cage.

Conditioned

There is something to be said about environment

And how one is governed

As to how the person will be affected.

Growing is constantly being halted

When restrictions take over

And part of that human is being undone.

Minds being shaped by biased souls

Who all believe they know the answers.

Taught to be two dimensional,

A flat image in a world of 3-D experience.

Until humans learn to break tradition,

We are conditioned