Hello, Hello Poetry!
My name is ORLA, as you can see:
There's my little name, up there.
It's funny, see, 'cause I don't care
If my poems stink or ****
As much as does my ****** luck,
Because you'd never tell me true,
You'll trend my poems, like you do,
And make pretend it's a big deal
When - Hello Poetry, get real -
I don't deserve this great fanfare,
Me or my little name up there,
Which isn't actually my name.
I go by ORLA just the same
Because I pour my heart out here,
And don't want snooping friends to hear
How much my heart is hurt by HIM
Or how I can't stand HER or THEM . . .
I actually hate ME, to boot!
You see? Now, if I gave a hoot
About what anybody thought,
What they believed, or what they bought,
Do you think I'd let this poem get
This long and tiresome? You can bet,
I wouldn't. I'd have never written
Something when I was this smitten
With fatigue, grief, guilt, depression -
But I must end this griping session:
Goodbye, Hello Poetry!
My name is ORLA - This is me.