How can I write poetry when

How can I

Write poetry

When the noise in my head is colourful and doesn’t come

Neatly packaged in neat little paragraphs

How can I

Write something that strives to be succinct and true

When I doubt every long winded, boring, drawn out, rambling, unclear, equivocal, convoluted, dreary thought that

Squirms around my skull

Like maggots wriggling around-

They might spill out of my ears or drop off my bittered tongue

And roil around the page and then escape or

They might fight amongst themselves in slimy battles

To the death but they’re only temporary, no one ever wins

Nothing ever wins

Not truly

Not forever

How

Can I

Write Poetry?

Can I?

How?

When my mind is a world like this one, trapped inside a tiny skull,

And it only comes out in music and hatred and nights with

Tooooooooooooooo maaaaaaaaaaaaaany stars

I might try to smoke them out

Catch them when they’re sleeping,

When I’m sleeping, But how can I sleep with these tooooooooooooooooo maaaaaaaaaany stars?

Beauty must be suffered for, it makes me suffer. Beauty is suffering.

And none of it is true

And none of this is true

How can I

Write poetry

When I don’t even know what that is?

The End

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