Being a fraud

Sometimes I write shitty poetry,

and throw out words from the top of my head.

Sometimes they rhyme like a children’s book

and sometimes they don’t, they just end.

I try to invoke a feeling

but then I’ll lose it half way through.

Reading it back I cringe at its sound

and I don’t know what to do.

I reach for the feelings to finish.

I force the round into a square.

Why did I even start this?

It’s something that I’ll never share.

Shitty poetry happens,

it’s real but at least it’s free,

as the drunken poet cursed through god;

too many poets, not enough poetry.

2 thoughts on “Being a fraud

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