Every time I show up to class

They try to tell me I’m doing something wrong

You don’t structure a sentence like that

More like this, they say

Ok, professor

Wave your magic PhD in the air

Spin around 3 times

And go **** yourself



Write anything, they say

Write about anything you’d like!

Except whatever you choose

Make sure I approve

It has to be in this book, they say

It has to go by the rules



Who wrote the book?

Who said it’s right?

You must never follow a book of rules

Because if you mess up just once

Just once is all it takes

You’ll either fail a class

Or get sent to hell



I’m teaching you the truth

I’m teaching you the way

I am an all knowing, all seeing

Perfect being

Ok, professor

Wave your magic PhD in the air

Spin around 3 times

And go **** yourself

Anyone can put words together.

Everyone can be an artist.

Is poetry no more than an imagery of combined words?

Is art no more that an attractive mixing of colors?

In a logical sense, everything is straight and mathematical.

In a logical sense, everything is logical.

But wouldn’t that also mean

that nothing is as well?

And if nothing is logical,

and everything is logical,

what is real?

What is unreal?

Where does the mind begin,

and where on earth does it end?

That is,

if there even is an earth,

if there even is an end.

Questions can **** us

But only if we let them

Because anyone can put words together

Everyone is an artist.