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A poem can be many things. Some rhyme, some follow strict rules, some just flow, some break all the grammar rules, some just hit the paper like drops of blood from a fresh wound. Sometimes a poem rolls off the tongue and others dart from the mouth like poison spit. Why write a poem? Well, the damn things just pop into the head and creep along the neck to the shoulders and down the arm to the fingertips that tap, tap, tap at the keys on the computer until the words form on the page and suddenly, exist. It doesn’t ask to be born, it simply chooses its moment and forces its way out. There are poems about the tangible and the purely emotional, poems that express in words rather than sentences, in phrases rather than stanzas. There are poems of many forms, for many reasons. Most of it is dark, some will doubtless be flawed, as it was after all, composed by a simple, human, creature.