I hate poems about water.
Not just any water
Because a little rain in a poem is fine.
But big masses of never ending water
Wave on top of wave
Just makes me feel smaller.
I hate poems that end in rhyme,
But I find myself doing it all the time.
Monotonous, becomes my words,
With grief I find they're useless and absurd.
It seems I create the same poem all the time,
All I do is rearrange words and sprinkle a little dictionary on it,
But everyone seems to like it fine.
I hate suicide, self-hate and woe is me poems,
I find them tedious to read, but read them all the same,
What’s wrong with me, is it my childhood to blame?
I can’t seem to make my ideas stick anyhow,
They seem to melt on my tongue like snowflakes,
They sometimes grow as big as an tidal wave, crashing-
Send my thoughts of how much I hate my life thrashing.
Sending my guts reeling from the whoosh whoosh motion on deck-
Sending headaches up and down my head and neck....