You’re supposed to be here
You’re supposed to be that way
You’re certainly not supposed to do that
And here’s what you’re supposed to say
Supposition makes a mess
Of inner peace and happiness

I see whiny poetry
Over-played
Realms of poor me
Or poor you
Sometimes it gets
The best of me
Frustration
At frustration
Expressed
So frustrated there I be
And that’s a slippery *****
If one I ever did see

Punctuation is not meant to detract.  
Needlessly
!!!!!!!!!!!!  
!!!!  
!!
There was no point
For those exclamation point
(No point in plural(s) either)
Or this question mark
?
Was that a question.
Was that?  
This could go on for a while
Which is, the whole point of
Punctuation
Even pointless exclamation points

Can you truly hear my voice
And recognize it’s me
Regardless of the name you see?
Surely someone paying attention
Could pick me out from a crowd
Pretending out loud
Not to be me
I think
Eventually
Even the blind would see
Right through me

I wish to see
A poem written from you to me
But would never ask
Maybe it’s best if I see
All poems as about me
Such a narcissistic task
But for every reader who identifies
The poem is about them, too
Personally, I’ve seen
Plenty of poetry
That could have been from you to me
In that it brought you to my mind
From wherever you are
And poetry responds in kind
To you, I’m sure
And then I meet somebody new
And somehow that poem
Becomes
About him, too

With you
You carry the
Mighty Pen
Live a thousand lives
Within the Mighty Pen
Obscurity to mainstream
Back around again
Magic in perpetuity
Within the Mighty Pen

Theatrics
Attract us
We love to see a show
Looked at from our lens
Over the crowd
The one we notice
Is flailing about