Written Words are Bullshit
Poetry and Rhymes
Singing Songs and Written Words
How beautiful they are
But that is just a sweet lie
You ask why I write
why phrases flow onto pages in front of me
how stanzas and metaphors become more
than just words?
I do not know,
for I dislike poems,
but, maybe it’s not the poems, but people
how astonishing they are
weaving words like puppeteers
bending the emotions of their readers
to their own desires and whims
twisting words into something beautiful,
attempting to tame the rotting and wilting.
How meaningless words can mean so much
Love, peace and joy,
when the only devotion they have,
is bathed in deception
You ask why I write and I’ll say,
I have no clue.
I’ll lie and joke while weaving beautifully awful words
to fit my narrative
Stanzas and metaphors will become so much more
This game of phrases written in ink and silly songs displayed,
poems and rhymes
continuously bending others
to my whims and desires
turning words into nothingness,
changing meanings to prevent rotting.
Making meaningless pages turn into works of art.
You ask me why I write, why play this dangerous game?
It’s because this game keeps my insanity at bay.
Words pool in my brain,
crashing into my soul.
Drowning my mind, until I lose control.
The only way to ease this anxiety,
Is by expelling the words in their entirety.
Giving meaning to the meaningless,
trading passion for dishonesty.
You ask me why I write,
I write to lie.
As poets, we outwardly extend truths,
Telling others what to do,
while burning our own advice,
and looking at our demise.
Ink made from our bleeding hands and choking breaths,
to weave words and make rhymes,
It is all a sweet lie
We all write to lie.
