My Poetry Is

My Poetry Is

Witty, charming, shallow, and bold
childish, and infantile, so I am told.
Bland, repugnant, with little insight
concise, cohesive, and cuts like a knife.
Rigid, repetitive, dull and bland
sorry about those, but I am, what I am.
Simple, complicated, arguementative, and insane
creatively shrewd, and often quite vain.
Sweet, sour, stuffy, and absurd
dogmatic, prismatic, and other big words.
Fresh, stale, and as natural as the dew
wonderfully great, with many a poor review.
Precise, sloppy, and overflowing with hope
so melancholy, morbid, that I can hardly cope.
Likable, hateable, forgetable but true
and why I do this, I haven’t a clue.
For I often wonder, where I went wrong
and if it’s worth the paper, it’s printed on.
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1 Response to My Poetry Is

  1. Sandy says:

    Great poem!

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