This isnt working.

This whole poetry thing.

I have nothing to write.

To take away the sting.

Of believing myself.

When I say certain things.

Like I have no talents.

I won’t amount to much of anything.

 

I’m supposed to be good.

At writing poetry.

But now my brain is blowed.

Can’t think of anything.

 

What am I gonna do.

If I can’t write nice stuff.

Like pretty little phrases

Full of adjectives and fluff.

 

My head is going haywire.

My mind a broken tv.

The static radiating from my brain’s affecting me.

 

I cannot find a rhythm

And I cannot find a rhyme.

Why can’t I sound smart right now.

 Just this one specific time.

 

My keyboard is confusing me.

The letters are going wild.

My yping skills are depriciating.

Im typing like a child

 

If only one could see me now

I think they would agree

There is no possible way

To make a poet out of me.

 

I used to write nice poems.

Describing nature stuff.

But they were uninspired.

It was quite easy

To call

My bluff.

 

Now my poetry writing style’s

Usually about

Intangible things.

Mostly uninspiration

And the desperation that it brings.

 

I don’t care if my poetry’s

Reviewed as good or sour

Because I tend to relax

When my life comes to that hour

In which I can lounge on my bed

And write a verse or two.

So I’ll just keep on spilling

All my thoughts on junk to you.