Grumpy Poet Syndrome.

Mon, 04/24/2017 - 11:17 -- Neftee

Each poem I write isn't good enough...

So I wright this.

words press against  the inside of my skull,

Something set them off.

I spray these pages with phrases like horse piss.

Then I gain control.

I sit back in my chair... "looks pretty rough."

Why did i wright this?

Was this crap in my soul? What if its so?

I start to laugh.

If my work is simply verbal piss,

this must be my toilet bowl.

This poem is about: 


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