"This poetry thing, then. What's the whole deal?
It's an odd way to talk about things that are real."
Well I'm just trying, you know, to make it more fun
Than a typical day when I don't see the sun.
A verse offers structure, a rhythm, a beat;
A literary sandwich with rhyme as its meat.
Each line an achievement, each stanza a win,
Each poem attempting to muster a grin
Amid all that I feel, amid all that I don't.
Amid all that I can't, amid all that I won't.
The main thing is having an outlet to vent
About all that I've been through and all that it meant.
The future looks brighter unclouded by thinking,
And feeling progression instead of just sinking.
If there's one thing I do know, it's that I can write
And that thought can settle me down in the night.
I don't have Plath's anger or Milligan's wit
But I'm able to juggle my words so they fit.
