I’ve decided that writing poetry
Would be a lot easier if I could, you know, actually FEEL things
Since that’s really the POINT of poetry
But it seems like that’s not in the fucking stars because all my poetry
Is short and to the point and descriptive
Because that’s all it can be
And I say it’s because I’m a science major
And ambiguous concepts like emotions stress me out and I don’t want to deal with them
And I’d rather discuss various phyla of bacteria or explain the theory of kinetics
But really it’s because I’m hollow and can’t.
And the struggle is really fucking real when there is no possible way to release
All this numbed emotion without doing anything that will get me disowned
Or landed in some kind of rehab center
So alas I’m left with shitty attempts at poetry, self-deprecating thoughts, and a useless therapist
Who just tells me I need to not be the way I am.
Gee thanks, I could’ve told myself that.
I thought maybe if I try this whole stream of consciousness method
Some feelings would maybe seep out
And maybe I could feel better but to be honest this just sounds like
A fucking pity party I threw for myself that no one’s gonna come to
Because no one likes a pessimist or someone who poops their own party
And if you ever have to read this I’m really genuinely sorry
Because this is horribly terrible just like those books you had to read for English class
In tenth grade with that overly analytical teacher who liked to walk around
Drenched in a bottle of pungent smelling perfume and grade papers in blinding ink
And my bad for not putting a disclaimer or some kind of warning in the beginning
But you should probably go read some Robert Frost instead
Because he’s much better at this.