Time to Clear the Air

Well, it’s time to clear the air. Take a few deep breaths and feel the curiously funny sensation that warms over the body. Mmm… Tingly.
Alright, I’ve been recently inspired to care more about how I write. Before I would just rant on in long, unorganized sentences and paragraphs where true meaning was intended but ultimately was overshadowed wholly by ungrammatical, unprofessional, complex and dubious streams of words that mangled together like vines in a jungle that one would hardly be able to get through. I mean by this, that I would just write nonstop without worrying too much about punctuation, capitalization, sentence or paragraph structure or forming, or any other words or ways that describe proper or improper ways to write.
I know, oh, I know I’ve a long way to go in my ever increasing knowledge of proper writing skills. Sometimes I feel like a little kid, well mostly all of the time I feel like a little kid but I don’t think of that as a negative thing. I want to learn and do things the right way but there is a portion of me that says, “Ahh! I can write how I want to write!” Well, don’t get me wrong I totally know that and will write how I may but here is where my confliction of thought sets in. I know there are rules to writing just as everything else but I can’t hardly stand the man that says, “Now, you cannot say ‘Can’t hardly stand’ the way you used it. It’s improper and is a double negative which implies a lowly ignorance.” All I have to say to that is, "That don’t matter much to me." (Sigh…) I suppose it should though...
Well, I do desire to be better in my all around writing skills because it is something that I can do in the wee hours of the morning when sleep is scarce. And I do believe that I can start a sentence with the word, “And,” regardless of what Microsoft Word says.

I love to write so today I will
Try and tune my desired skill,
I’m slow in the proper technique
But strong things once were frail and weak.

Writing’s truly great and grand
I know it’s a passionate art
I’ve no learned wit or practiced hand
But I’ve got desire, truth and heart.

With all the skills the world endows
A perfect book is worth not much
If no love the writer allows
Or is able to other hearts touch.

So like a child my clumsy writes
Are written from my would be scars,
Taken from my darkest nights,
Nights that taught me to learn from the stars.