In reverie of poetry, permit me to say
I’ve put up with my fair share of despair and let me downs
-some hard - some easier
-some hard - some easier
It’s all the same, like disappointment about disparaging remarks about my pink hair
Hair’s faded from bright red I admit
Hearing insults from important poets known on the scene about my poetry not being “real” poetry
My poetry’s not authentic; it’s eccentric
I don’t know how you can get more real than me
My poetry is me and then some more
It has room for me and you in store
You find yourselves in here, inside a poem
Be careful what you say round me
I will quote you
in a poem
It’s no good to say I should delay
You say and pray I won’t consider putting your words in a poem even though you know that’s what I do
Repeat after me – I forbid you to put this in a poem
So if it’s not goose for the gander stop feeding me
Give me some respect for what I do
I spill my blood and guts for you
I receive letters from people who read what I write
I received one today from a nice girl. She said she’s sorry for my life, she feels so sad for me, she’s just glad she’s not here where I am, she wouldn’t know what to do if she stood here where I stand in my shoes,
She doesn’t know anyone who’s had it this bad
She just don’t know how I manage to survive a life this sad
I told her, "Suicide’s a waste of time,
I’d rather spend my energy writing poetry."
She said, "You suck at poetry!
You can’t write “real” poetry anyway."
You think I’m pulling your leg?
Then whose leg am I pulling? ~
Mine?
Damn, if I had my legs pulled a little, maybe this hip pain wouldn’t hurt so bad
So I’m an old fool who writes poetry –
What did you say you do?
