I've realized it's really hard to write without having someone in your mind
because, in your thoughts, they spend most of their time.
There was a girl
She gave my poems purpose
Almost as if my life was no longer worthless
And drove me insane did she,
Too often we fought & disagreed.
One day, she got fed up and set me free.
But without her, what is there for me to write about?
Living in a universe with endless possibilities and ideas but not one thing would come out.
And it's quite a crisis you see,
because poetry is what truly defines me
There's no other things I'm good at
And if I tried them,
I'd end up a poor hood rat
I'm a very bad artist,
should I pick it my profession,
it'd lead to my starved carcass
Nor am I a musician,
So bad nobody wants to listen
And I've failed at every Broadway audition!
I don't want to dance,
I know friends will tease me,
and I fear I'll rip my pants!
My friends say I'm no singer,
and that I make their ears bleed
And should just stick to being a lyrical thinker.
As you can see,
I'm stuck in a trance,
And at first glance,
It seems easy to escape,
But it's very likely that this is truly my fate.
I've made all my tissues so soggy
Because it is time to leave my beloved hobby.
I'll see you later, paper and pen
I know I'll think of you now and then
and maybe, when she's back
I'll pick you up again