versis for homeostasis

I dont read poetry
the way
I openly use to
I dont write poetry
unbiasedly and
full heartedly, invincibly, unhinderedly.
my verses
the ones I consume
and put forth
now
stem
out of utter necessity.
and I dont enjoy
necessity
I dont enjoy things
compulsory
but
you
burned ease within
you
spun me
to clutter upon verses
for balm.
you push me to engulf plath,
for Sylvia shutters
with exact frequency
I do.
you
drive me to search
between compressed verses
for crumbles
of heartache
that can infold and anoint mine
you make me compose
your mundane story
into weak rhymes
in the most primitive way
for a bit
of temporary
internal
homeostasis.