Woes, put into poetry
Coming out as a jumbled mess
Left for passers-by to decipher.

Making no sense
Throwing my emotions together
Hoping that it makes a rhyme.

Inconsistent
Syllables and stanzas mean nothing.
All I want is attention.

The finished product
Even I can barely understand.
All that matters is that I got it off my chest.

Why do I keep writing?
Maybe it's the feelings
That never go away.

All I write is stupidity
Words spewing out of my head
That mean nothing at all

Each time I create
There is a sadness that grows inside me
Threatening to ***** me out.

Why do I write?

Why? If it is all just stupidity?

If it has no meaning, even to myself?

I'm just a Jumbled Mess,
And my poetry reflects me---
But there is nothing there.