To be honest
Now there's a word
I don't honestly
Use that often.
My poetry's not going to
Set the world alight.
It's just a tool
That I use
Divide and rule
To banish thoughts
In my head
Instead of an express train
Full speed ahead
Around my brain
Spiralling in circles
With no buffers to hit.
I reach my own
End of the line
A shrink to myself
Everything fine
Even when it's not
I'll give it a shot
No need for a psychiatrist
Or a handful of pills
Poetry is how
I cure my ills.
A good friend of mine
Once said
That I think too much
So I'm using my poems
As an emotional crutch.
Bottom line is
We're all a bit mental
A fact of life that
Need not be detrimental.
You don't need a happy pill
Or slouch on a couch
Just write at will
For that I can vouch.
All you need is a paper and pen
And if it doesn't come out right
Just start again.
It takes a while to come out
And admit to your choice
Be proud as a poet
At the top of your voice!
For being a poet
Is only a label
To add to the rest
In your 'slightly weird' label.
Dulwich Poet 11th November 2013
(Why do we write poetry? It can be theraputic. It's also something I simply enjoy...)
No comments:
Post a Comment