FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS!
Who the fuck do you think you are?
Far from the person you wish,
far from the talented writer.
Wasted words carry no essence,
you need substance to lift poise.
Listen how loud your self-doubt is,
“get out of your state of mind,” she says
“I can’t,” I said. I live in my head, with this dirt that I compose.
Lackluster and without soul, best to describe my poems.
Superior poets roam the world bringing justice to the forum.
Oh, how I envy them. Oh, how I hate them. Oh, how I wish I was them.
Fuck, you know nothing about writing, bottom of the class,
flunked English class, the one to graduate last.
The arts you should dismiss
Get a nine to five job, be the example,
clean peoples piss,
the one society tramples.
Look in the mirror scream,
you’re a wannabe, living…
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