I can't be a poet, it's been said my whole life,
The teachers watching me as I write every line.
'Your words don't make sense, you know they have to rhyme,
Add similies and metaphors to make your writing alive.'
But I can't, I don't know how,
To spit out 'poetry' from my mouth.
The words always choke, I've got nothing to say,
Because I can't talk unless it's their way.
Now I'm stuck in this cycle, forcing words on a page,
Got no emotion to put down unless it's from rage,
I write as if my life's ending today,
A workaholic, yeah that's what they'd say.
Because I'm writing and writing empty lines, all the same,
Trying to create a masterpiece from an empty space.
I'm not a poet, I can't be.
I'm not a writer, I can't see.
Not an artist, can't believe,
Not a creator, don't fool me!
YOU ARE READING
Thinking About Random Stuff
RandomI just want to write. It's a mess. I like writing. Poetry I guess, who really knows what monster I've created. Deep thoughts and sometimes me trolling myself. Fun.
