My poetry is an organized brain fart.
A methodical mental puke that
spans across my interests and likes
in the hope that others would find
a similar joy as I in them.
My soul is barred to the masses daily
and in my limited experience,
there is no such thing as an elegant poem,
for poetry is a part of your very being
and share it is akin to rending your soul apart
for the world to pick at.
Yet poets still write
for we see the world for what it is.
In all its beauty and lack thereof
and refuse to flinch
for we must share it the world.
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