Bad poetry makes me ugly:
Look, each line, a cliche
Each blemish, a simile;
My smile grows more bitingly smug
With each overzealous superlative.

My raccoon eyes are ringed
By metaphorical self delusions,
Badly performing alliteration-
All improvisations of incompetence;
And then the clash of symbol, deranges all thought.

Choose only the wound that is in your heart
That you would earnestly enlarge upon,
Steadfastly ignoring all the others.

I am twisted like the flesh of my brain
Any problem?

I shiver with pain
They call me insane
But what do they see?
Just the outer part of me?

I cannot breathe,
Because I am insane,
They just looked over
And tagged me a name
But do they see the soul my insides claim?

I do not know
If I am blind
Or if I am surrounded by blindness.