The truth about poets
Is
They’re not all alike
Some are derelicts
Scalawags
Lovers
Sisters
Some say they’re writers
Instead of Poet
For they know what that puts
Into the minds of others
Romantic
Lethargic
Gypsy
Some will never write novels
Poems are their Ulysses
Their ‘Love in the Time Of Cholera
Some are sad
Withdrawn
Choose to live there
While some poets
Use their words
To claw their way out
Some have fallen out of love
&
Want someone
ANYONE
to listen
While some have fallen in
the deepest ocean
&
Want to tell the world
What this man
This woman
Means to them

Most write their verses
Alone
Some at midnight
Some at sunrise
Some with coffee
Most with bottles

Most will never see the reaction
Of many
Will never hear
‘I like that...’

And most don’t want to be famous
Or sometimes heard
We
Just want to be
Ourselves

“You will be happy” said Life
But first ill make you strong,
It will make you question things in your life to work out what went wrong.

“You will be happy,” said Life,
But first, i’ll make you ill,
So ill that you’ll appreciate what it feels like to be well.

“You will be happy,” said Life,
But first ill make you cry,
Cry so many tears as you watch your many friends lives pass by.

“You will be happy,” said Life
But first ill cause you pain,
Pain you’ve never felt before,
You won’t tell the sunshine from the rain.

“You will be happy,” said Life
But first, i’ll make you strong,
Now I sit here wondering if my happy years have been and gone.