I don’t belong, here I still read and write poetry Jesus ! Nobody reads poetry anymore. I don’t belong, here. Nobody takes the time anymore, The time to read, The time to love The time to live. Everyone’s too busy, Too busy to live Too busy to love and especially Too busy to read, a goddamn poetry book. I don’t belong, here. People read and write poetry like they live, anxiously, fearfully, boringly. It’s all a bore ! What’s it all for ? How should I know ? I’m just as lost and fucked up as you. But I do know that in this world poetry goes a very long way. And I do know that this is my life to live or not to live. my words to speak or not to speak. So while I’m here and while I can I may as well express myself ‘cause this world sure as Hell won’t do it for me, that’s for sure. No, If it had its way I would stay silent, mute, my whole life. But this is my life, my absurd meaningless life And I get to do it my absurd meaningless way. And while I may not be able to always explain what I feel that I know or even know what I feel I know that I feel ! And what I feel I feel deeply, and what I feel I need to express to the best of my ability because without this, I am as good as dead. “But nobody reads poetry anymore.” Well fuck it ! Here goes everything.
