Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing.
~ Todd Moore, Outlaw Poetry
I love Jesus but I don’t know why I want to die by suicide
Do you ever go to sleep & wish you would never wake up?
Is life just being, well
A bitch?
Sad. Boring. Endless? Day to day bullshit?
THEN
POETRY IS FOR YOU !
That’s RIGHT!
POETRY !
Poetry Saves Poetry Lives Poetry can be funny Or Dark Poetry Is that special Something that really Appeals to all of you Out there constantly asking a Billion questions Without actual answers Poetry provides a glance Into your super secret Self, Poetry can be Exciting Depressing Meaningful or experimental Or even about love And Poetry doesn’t care Who you are or what you Believe in as long as you
WRITE!
YES That’s RIGHT
POETRY is that creativity behind The curtains Of philosophy And power & Even religion because Poetry contains The most powerful invention Ever created called WORDS
YES WORDS
Those things we use Everyday to swear at People behind their Backs or used to express Those awkward And annoying Little things We call
FEELINGS
So life got you down?
Fuck That!
START WRITING POETRY TODAY !
*DISCLAIMER:
Poetry is not an actual or real solution to all your emotional issues and problems. Side effects may include illusions of grandeur, strange beards, beatnik hipster clothing and possibly large amounts of alcohol. Poetry can be addictive and submissions rejective. Poetry may upset certain people who aren’t used to bad rhyming. Poetry belongs to the masses but social media & corporations want you to pay money to share it’s voice which is complete shit. Poetry is not for racists, facists or anyone who is far too stupid to actually write a poem or breathe using hate speech at a kindergarten level. Poetry is not a product but a mystical force that can even quite possibly change the world.
Bored With the Modern world They watch us All from their Thrones of sleep
And then Once again Turn on the TV Looking outward For dominating ideas
Approval.
Validation.
In the decayed Engine of the Great man made Machine
Long tired & dead In the waters of Mere acceptance Their sad anarchy Now only a Visage of teenage Years bloated & Tired out without Renewal
While all the dreamers Still dream, write sonnets To a new world of endless Possibilities, write poems To a universe from a different Place yet to be known or Seen
As they throw the old bones The remains of humanity Into the void of the cosmos Searching within their souls
