Journal; the relationship between poetry and me.

I am no professional poet, nor do I ever intend to be. I rarely read poetry and I do not care to see a poet perform, or do whatever they do. So why do I write it? Most of my poetry is born of impulsive fits, where binding my thoughts to verse comes as compulsively as picking a scab. Some poems I plan, but that is rare. When you read my work, just keep in mind that I am not a serious poet. Anyway, serious poets are not poets at all.

Poem; Rant (rough)

My life's not bad but what is sad,
Is that I do know you,
I'm sick of it you pile of shit,
So rant is what I'll do.
Your rotten chin and servant's grin,
Make monsters of my nerves,
And I despise your clueless eyes,
Lit cigarettes each one deserves.
If words had mass then you so crass,
Would moan a thousand tonnes,
Of uncooked flesh not once been fresh,
All slain by diseased guns.
Inside your skull a braincell cull,
Led by deranged brigades,
"Just feed me more," the survivors roar,
During channel surf capades.
Now I'm done though it's been fun,
More time you are not worth,
So from my mind I leave behind,
All traces of your birth.

Note; getting to the point.

I seem to be incapable of routinely writing full entries for Sqvid, so I am using Twitter in the meantime. Anyway, it is my true written nature to be "to the point."