Fiendish sculpture

Outlet

With myself I do not want to seem too
Lenient airing my highs and lows but I
Am finer in pain than being with who
Obviously bluff my strength and what I
Can do but to foresee I need more gut

Merely a bunch of repressed of one, too
Many insinuations put into words
That rhyme to harness, poise myself and through
Make it, but what if I break into sherds
And those dear verses go back to the blue?

It would be cold, no more fire to pull from
Just a sparkle of ebullient poems
My legs might get worn out, I might succumb
There would be no outlet for my omens
But I rather keep chewing the same gum

Instead of always prowling on eggshells
With no preys out there, therefore thank you all
Who just stood near me when there were rebels
I promise to sell my soul to stand tall
Again, and to ring them myself my bells