It seems to me that No matter what words I choose And countless stanzas I use I feel no different than how I did yesterday.
I feel torn, confused, and lost Like any other ******* teenager out there So, I thought poems could ventilate my fears And somehow halt my internal flowing tears
But I was wrong.
It seems to me that No matter what topics I discuss Everybody I talk to turns the other way As if I've got nothing important at all to say.
A friend, a foe, a love, a hate Why should I think my words are great? If everybody I write about dissolves in the end Does it even matter if I care for the poems I tend?
It seems to me that No matter what words I choose And countless stanzas I use I cannot artistically express that I'm done with poetry.