a spoon ful of su gar

i love to edit. i could live in the sunset of editing for eternity. the bigger the storm, the brighter the colors - i invite suggestions, and will likely dive into them with no real fear that the suggestion could ever be wrong. i truly believe others know better than me. definitely, others know better than me in how something is being perceived. but the sun must set and while i make edits i wonder if i should just make a whole new sheet; a new piece entirely, an egg laying in the light of the moon. so i do. and now i have two pieces to edit! yay me! who loves to edit. but then a year passes and nothing is edited, but now there is a stack to edit. yay me. i love to edit. and the suggestions pile up and i wonder if there will ever be enough. please, just hold my hand and tell me everything i need to do to make this conglomeration of letters the best your brain has ever processed. yes you probably could just do it yourself, but you didn't, you came to me and offered me edits. no, i'm not trying to be difficult i swear. yes, i agree 'mutiny' doesn't fit the rhythm there. don't you think it acts as a cliffhanger? no, okay, cool, so what do you suggest? nothing? up to me. well, i like mutiny. even moreso now that it's rather ironic to the editing situation. perhaps i will include that in the author bio. "poem titled Pirates in Antarctica received edit suggestions about the word mutiny; in true poetic fashion, the writer mutinied the editor and changed absolutely nothing."