Nobody gives a flying shit about poetry.
Yet here I sit, opposite
Spilling my guts note by note and bit by bit.
For the sake of keeping a lost art form
Alive and well.
No actual appreciation for my alliteration
Like freshly released prisoners in the proximity, no laces
tighter than my similes.
No respect for metaphor
Where's the preservation of the art form?
Who knew of haiku? Who allotted the sonnet?
I am iambic pentameter.
Shooting jump shots on the perimeter.
Life: I might be madly in love wit' her.
So it's give and take, give and go
Love and hate, fast and slow.
No comments:
Post a Comment