I'm not a good writer,
Not one little bit.
My words don't rhyme,
My lines aren't chime.
I’m a bipolar,
And a cock-a-hoop too.
Sometimes, I talk a lot--
literally, profane and sarcastically.
Sometimes, I keep my mouth shut,
Bring out a paper and a pen.
Draw and write,
Whatever it may be.
I'm not a good writer,
But I have a colorful life--
colors of bliss,
of love,
of pain,
of suffering,
of blatant situations,
of blasphemy.
That's all that matters,
And that I want to share with you.
I know,
I'm not much a poet,
But life, forces me to write.