Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Poetry

Why do you want to cut my voice,
sculpt and blunt the edges of my words, 
put me on a dais and call it poetry.

For me, it is an insatiable hunger, 
an unstoppable urge to puke, 
a unrelenting desire to pee,
That's what is poetry.

So don't lure me with your intellectual masturbation,
or rims of news prints that goes down the toilet everyday. 
I don't want to be a sensation,
don't tie me in your definition for success.

I don't need a white shawl
or a hanging bag on my shoulder to look the part, 
I'll never look the part, I don't want to look the part,
a torn piece of jeans and a full sleeve shirt is all I need.

Let me be a bit gibberish, incoherent. 
Let me stammer and stuttered my words to you, 
without any form or structure. 
Rhyme or rhythm. 
Lucidity or logic. 

Just let me speak.

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