The Bottom Deadline

there is a contest I would like to enter
the deadline
is my birthday
a sign I'm sure
that I must enter the world of publication
but first
I must mull and cull
clean and polish
send my children off brighteyed with hope
to their first day of school...
I need fifty pages
fifty items
fifty slices from my journals...
fifty pieces of my mind...
I will have to read coolly the page
first written in rage
I will have to coldly operate
on my musings...
each piece must be finished
each word carefully weighed
and placed
faced...
agony!
is it better
to fetter
my gleanings and scribbles?
hoard them in a safe pile
where no strange eye can defile
my finest efforts and wasted lines?
troll like, lurk under my stack
gnash my teeth and snarl "get back!"
eyes gleaming beady and bloodshot?
or can I feather my words' wings
and let each syllable sing
of the higher truths we all seek...