I wonder if poetry is as good when your happy
Lord knows it can usually sound quite sappy

Love and birds and clouds galore
Children's laughter and so much more

But for now I will write of my gruff and my grit
The stuff that's all made up of ****

Relationships , casualties and inner daemons
The thick in which remains of my dreamings

Paired with that of a guilty conscience
Can only leave me to sound obnoxious

The fumes to ruminate the life I once had
Of birds and clouds and things that were glad

For now I'm ok with the grit and the gruff
Because for now it is the truest of stuff