Monday, 27 April 2020
Multiple Poetsonality Disorder
Multiple Poetsonality Disorder.
As I sit on my chair with a poem to write,
I invoke inspiration to visit my words,
I'm aware that my poems are mostly absurd,
So I beg for a gift so my wrongs become right.
It's so easy for cliché to dirty the lines,
Or to savage a sentence so metre can breath,
I don't want to be shamed by the words that I leave,
Or for words to exploit me 'cause nothing else rhymes.
Bollocks this poetry shit isn't difficult,
I can just dribble it out in my sleep.
Sometimes I grant you that rhyming is difficult,
Following rules just like prosody sheep.
Perhaps now is the time for the truth, I'll come clean,
There is more than one person that lives in my head,
He's a dick but I should introduce you to Fred,
I have been diagnosed, and I have Schizophren-
-ia. What I would give to make him go away,
He is always there lurking, he waits out of site,
I know Fred will turn up just as soon as I write,
He's a poetry vandal who ruins my day.
Hush now you're boring, just call me Your Majesty,
I am the one with a talent for verse,
I am the King of this crap you call poetry,
Blake wrote some shit but your poems are worse.
I suppose it is true, I might not be the best,
Do you truly take pleasure in pointing it out?
When you know that I suffer with waves of self-doubt.
You're a ruinous breath, you're a poisonous pest.
All I ask is the chance to just finish a page,
Without Fred turning up and disrupting my flow,
I can start with a concept in mind but I know,
He will pop up and soil it with eloquent rage.
Eloquent? That is a word that you shouldn't use,
That is an insult although it is true.
Better you work in a field that you can't abuse,
Never forget I am better than you.
You abuse me and mock me, you piss on my flames,
You impede my expression with violence of speech,
You indulge in disruption with nothing to teach,
You besmirch me in public with terrible names.
All I ask is you leave me to scribble in peace,
You bring tears to my eyes with frustration and grief,
I am nothing to you like a dead Autumn leaf,
Yes I may be a sheep but you've hacked off my fleece.
Finally feels like you're writing with empathy,
Poems are best when emotions run free.
Harness those feelings let words become energy,
I don't need you but I think you need me.