A poem is a woman
who must be approached from many angles
but if you do it
or too fast
or look at her the wrong way
you become a creep who can’t write.
Been thinking about the lack of love in our society
it boils down to greed
the people don’t know—it won’t set them free—not that kind of money.
We can only set ourselves free
but many of us don’t want to be free
it’s like a bad friend we can’t get rid of
because he’s our only friend
it’s like a town we hate
but it’s a place we call home
it’s the drug we use
because it makes us feel good
but it’s not a real feeling—
it helps us to forget our pain
if only, for a moment.
We are wasting our lives at work for money
We are becoming what other people want us to be
We don’t know what we want
and if we did—we could leave home for good.
A poem is a true expression of our soul
it’s more than painted words
it’s a woman who wants to be looked at, and cherished
lead, into the night.
a poem speaks
but it doesn’t talk about itself
We want to be admired
while the poem only wishes to be understood
We are not perfect
and the perfect poem does not try to be
it’s just honesty—
Who can you be honest with? Love them.
Perfection is for people who are pretending
We all seem to want it
but it’s a big act
People throw people around like money
“I make more than you.”
It’s sad, really—when people think they are worth more
because of their money
They have bought a lie with their life
They can’t know value, they easily dismiss
They need to make more money, so they will be more valuable
This lie, is the worst deception
Never buy it.
A true poem, can’t be finished
it just keeps writing itself
every breath, is a new word
a new spelling
now, she can be, won.