Profound Musing

With myself I have fought and fought
when I attempt to be who I feel I am not
and with reckless abandon I get verbose
so that my poesies can become grandiose
full of opulent verbiage that no one uses
which pronunciation consistently abuses
even the most elegant forms of diction
(lacing it with sounds approaching fiction).

So who is it that I am trying to impress
with the eloquent manner that I progress
to write about such mundane things
as naps and coffee and the joy each brings?
Few people care what I consequentially say,
paying attention is not on the schedule today.
No matter how I say it or with whom I have fought,
profoundly, I am myself even when I am not.