Ever ask yourself, what do you write poetry for?
Is it passion or is it a mere cure for your bore?
Do you write in a way so others can relate?
Or simply drafting lines on subjects to contemplate?
Constructing our issues through pompous language
Faking pretence to hide this huge emotional baggage
People are amazed by that consistent literal flow
Metaphors and rhymes always make them go whoa
But these rhythmic lines and patterns are lame
I’ve felt more sensation in a burning yellow flame
Structures and patterns are made to please people
Constituted by teachers who’re mindlessly feeble
Fed by the acquisition of this false knowledge
We’ve thrown our pure intentions over the ledge
Like a ship that’s anchored to this sea of perfection
We try to seek for almost everyone’s validation
We try so hard to propagate words from feeling
Till we completely lose that one true meaning
Wake up friends it is time for a change
Throw away the normal and embrace the strange
Let’s sharpen our swords and rise for a revolt
For poetry isn’t just a mere aimless bolt
From all nooks and crannies we gather our troops
Together we will march towards life’s fiery hoops
You can act as a slueth that preaches the truth
Or simply narrate tales of your wasted love and youth
These tattered sentences aren’t made to impress
But to serve as a mark of our social and moral transgress
Write in a way that it makes your blood boil
Only turning cold once you’re six feet beneath the soil
Global or personal it doesn’t matter what we preach
As long as it is a dream that’s within our reach
You can be whatever, a lover or a fighter
Your preferences don’t matter cause we all matter
We don’t have to be as saintly as the priests and prophets
We only want to be recognized as writers, as poets
So ask yourself again, now that we’re through
What is even poetry to you?