Sometimes, some days, I fall victim
to writing Bad poetry. I know when’s
it bad when it’s ugly and sad.
When the over-ripe melon
is rotten to its core.
It’s really annoying, frustrating, and unforgiving
to be writing real bad craft
poems made of sorrow, breaking like glass.
poems that fall like drool from
my chapped, sun sore lips
words that escape
like a plague of misfits.
It’s quite clear, I am sitting down
deep again in my own private pity
party, the drama clutches me
I fear it will never end
as I catch myself writing
way too much, so very much, really
just too too much,
Bad Poetry again…