Identity?

Chaotic Perfection

Author,
Do i have the right to take that title
To claim what i write, as if there in lye some significance? Does a writer write for the audience or himself? Can it be for himself and still be appreciated by the crowd? Does crowd come off the way i intend but not as to say i am popular or have many reading the words i picked to match like an outfit for the first day of school? Was this run on sentence too much and drowned its beauty i favor it for?
Poet,
I have no patience for rhyme schemes, no idea for limerick. I write my emotions, freestyle and chaotic. They don't have a pattern yet i claim to write poetry? Am i the fool i created or the misguided ego brought on by my seventh grade la teacher? Is my self esteem low, or is this over questioning anxiety spilling from my pores?
Critic,
Do you judge my self expression for its uncapitalized i and uneducated grammar? Is that where my chance to be understood ends? Where the wall falls down from exposure and lets no more light of attention. Am i entitlement for feeling melancholy?That i may be disregarded sends me spiraling? I feel ashamed of what i think you may think of me because i know i could try harder. I am lazy, ask the teachers and my parents who have put pressure on me. I feel the need to clarify that pressure isn't negative and perhaps i needed to be pushed more. Would that have made a difference to my report card? That nothing was turned in, nothing was with effort. Nothing was with care or thought. Not but one assignment. A poetry book. Two freestyles and one of each of their type. I enjoyed it, thrilled of my tragic words. I wanted to invoke sorrow and pity . I wanted to be known for my pain. That my suffering felt loud yet as walked halls and streets it seemed overlooked in my mind's opinion of the onlooker criticizing me.
Shame,
I am going for raw, and exposure of my shame. Does my shame shape me? Of course it does, but is it the molding of my entirety? What makes us? Is it our first years or does it happen in our trauma? Is it how we see the future or does it affect the lens we look through?
Do we shine in solitude? Do we scream at our bitter eyes and drenched skin from the reflection we dare to take in? Do we accept ourselves only at our perfection? Do we accept our issues that we create within? Do we keep calm or fight our personal demons?
Do i stop here because i am at an end for words, or is it that I'm impulsive and tired. Ready to publish, had not read it over once. Eyes falling shut mind feeling fast , i am ready to dream.