Unispired
Staring at my empty page,
Feeling like I've been assigned homework.
I so want to cover it
In words so artful they paint.
Yet all I lend is
Bad metaphors and cliche.
Stolen Imagery.
Words escape my grasp
As I embrace my lacking.
Even the irony seems flat.
Adjectives are tired and overused.
Emotion is pointedly missing.
Whatever is to become of this
sad little thought?
Who will remember it?
Who would want to?
Heavy and self-loathing,
Yet lacking depth.
I hear many voices of my teachers now.
Overuse of "lacking"...
Fuck you, critic!
Stream of consciousness poetry has no artistry,
Form and rhyme,
That's what poems need,
what makes them worth our time!
Who caged the poem?
Made all these laws and rules?
It's cruelty to the words,
Unjust to the thoughts and emotions.
I don't feel in rhyme,
And I don't weep in rhythm.
