I know, I know
It’s like the woman in the book shop told me
Rhyme when you’re being humorous
Not when serious
But I can’t help it
I dunno, maybe it’s the Ann & Barry book in me
That did it
Or maybe I’m a sucker for absolute punishment
And how are these particular poems going down?
No idea really
I mean, I just post the things
Rather freely to be fair
Some take a few hours
Others, they just come right at me
Like a rain shower of sorts
Fast-paced to the last
Sure why not give it a blast!?
I want the fame that comes with it
You see, perhaps it’s me
But I think I might just have what it takes
To make a dullard’s wayward head quake
I mean, Wordsworth did it
Even Dickinson did it
Although these kinds of people for life most definitely weren’t fit
And that does indeed freak me the hell out
Without a goddamn doubt
Because I’d rather get drunk
Than sit right here
Scribbling away like an age-old punk
But, nonetheless, I’ll do it anyway
‘Cos it’s all I got
And I don’t seem to be writing about mental health anymore
God knows how… maybe that will turn out to mean I am getting better
But the better I get the more rhyme I tend to use
Dickinson did that too…
And she jumped… With. A. Noose.
There I go again
Writing the wrong kind of thing
Sorry Emily
Please forgive me
Try and take my words with a pinch of salt, no more, no less
I’m away with the birds