Is your inkling just a blot?

Or wondrous poem fair?

Is it just an ugly smudge?

Or does it tell a story clear?

Does your ink scream artistic bliss?

Or a mass of seething envy?

Does it shout out filth and mire?

Or just to those who think it pervy?

Do you censor every verse?

Or just each sculpted line?

Do you draw red pen through words?

Or just those you deem a crime?

Censorship is wrong you know,
in every shape and form.
It dulls the senses so much so,
mediocrity becomes the norm.