Unedited

I edit, these days,

until nearly all gone

are spontaneous thoughts

and words' pulse, once strong. 

I edit, these days,

until I can't recognize

any genuine feelings

behind their disguise. 

I edit, these days,

until I'm one long stutter

of half-baked thoughts

barely worth the mutter. 

I edit, these days,

because I learnt well how to hide

the blunt force of my thoughts

and my hardheaded side. 

I edit, these days --

and this is a terrible poem (!),

but I'll leave it this way

to lead my true self home.