Followers of the great Almighty Lord of Alliteration and symbolism
Their eccentric natures make them the pariahs of this world.
We cannot wrap our minds around The words they artfully speak, So we refuse to accept them
Their eyes burn like fire in their skulls As they stare you down from a podium, In their hands they hold their own hearts Which they have ripped out of their chests, Holding them out as if asking for you to accept it from them, Wanting you to understand what every beat means
Poets are misunderstood beings, Tortured creatures, But they are far stronger than any others, because they have the gall to speak their minds unforgivingly, Bare their most inner secrets and struggles To an audience of strangers
They are the quick of tongue, Speaking faster than one's ear can hear, But somehow they still manage to work themselves into your head With every word
They're parasites, Infecting your mind and soul, Tugging at you and driving themselves into your brain Until their poems are all you think of