My writing is shit
An over-simplified English
Which I dare to call "home"
But it's my shit
And it is glorious shit
Glorious, badly-written, over-simplified shit that will never change or shape the world
I have often been an optimist about these sorta things
But isn't that a bit optimistic?
My words have no strong political agenda
They don't teach most people shit
They simply are
They are in that undefinable, lucid, strange phenomenon we call 'art'
Something which you can enjoy on a Saturday evening, shut off, and then sit down to the table; unchanged
And honestly I don't need it to be more
I am fine with being a so-called "Pause-klovn"
As long as I can steal a bit of yr. time
Lend me yr. ears
For procrastination is still the thief of time
And let you, me, us enjoy a pure moment of me wasting everybody's time
With a bit of my rehearsed, dry humour...
This is probably where there should be some clever thing tying it all together
But then again
My writing is shit
YOU ARE READING
The Beautiful and The Unbeautiful - a collection of poems and texts
Poesiaa collection of poems, about the beautiful and the unbeautiful, don't think there is much more to say