And here I go

Often have I relied on poetry, to a point of it becoming a crutch

Crutches break, abruptly and as such are unreliable

This fact was well known, no disclaimer was required

At rejection, one often is enslaved by such crutches

Isn't poetry, (here on now will be called a crutch) a crutch, an opportunistic

Preys on minds like mine, that we keep so guarded

There are a few of us who write to not generate content

The few of us are slaves of such a crutch

I would not want to depend on such a crutch now, 

i have been read and i have too

Maybe it is time to wrap up my journals

Break my pen, walk away Without my heart limping