This Is Not Poetry

Out of Control

I am the mind of a delusional poet

And I am the body that has to bestow it

I am witty, sarcastic, nonchalant

I am the hand that writes with such flaunt

I find my writing quite funny to be honest

Knowing your gall, I'm hardly astonished

Save your words, their hardly your strong-suit

Save your criticism, it diminishes your repute

Ooh what high words from a bunch of muscles and veins

I could say the same about a mind without any brains

Who do you think wrote all this 'not-poetry'?
Surely not just the 'poet', he's as crazy as can be

Maybe so, but who actually wrote it?
You had the idea, but I'm the hand of the 'poet'

You are nothing but a bunch of flesh,
Maybe you should remember that when you refresh,
And if it wouldn't hurt me so badly,
I'd have already separated quite gladly

You're all talk, but sadly no action,
You're so called 'brilliance' is merely an abstraction,
If I could, I'd be care free,
Mind and body don't always have to agree

Oh the body never knows what it wants,
It hurts, it moves, it stops, it vaunts
Does, 'said body', have a brain?
No, it doesn't, don't be insane

True, I'm not at all independent,
You are the info-giver,
And I am the attendant,
But you are limited by your own head,
What my limits are, have never been said

You both are limited,
By your prejudiced bicker,
All you're doing is making me, the soul,
sicker,
Must I be the arbiter here?
You two are worse than our 'poet' dear,
We are all one in the same,
Whatever we do, we have the 'poet' to blame

I have to say that I agree,
Maybe not fully but to some degree

I as well, but you need not lecture,
Our arguing is just simple conjecture

Well, you two still give me a headache,
And just think, I'm the soul!
What irony does that make?!
No matter what you're individuality is, I'd say,
The mind can become weak, the body becomes fray

You, the soul, have your own little faults,
You keep your stupid feelings inside your not-so secret vaults,
And if you ever eventually die,
We could still live on and be able to get by

And you don't see it, how these feelings affect you,
Hate, love, subtlety,
These are what bind you

There's no need to criticize me,
As a person, we're all doing poorly,
You two are the backbone, I'm the motivation,
without all of us, nothing would come into creation

The mind is silent,
The soul is not well,
The body is violent, 
 They always rebel

And all together, we'd say we're a bit out of control,
As the identity of the 'poet',
And as mind, body, and soul.