You asked me to write more poetry. "Remember that one you wrote for me when we first started dating? I read it all the time, It was so beautiful." "That was an anomaly," I retort. "I do not write poetry; I get tattoos and haircuts. I stretch my earlobes and dress funny. I buy signs from homeless people; that is my art." My eloquence is nonexistent, I do not carry the right kind of pain with me Nor do I have enough beautiful thoughts to write good poetry. The only thing I could spurt out for you Is only 15 lines long. A pitiful piece of work.