Sunday, April 12, 2009 at 8:45am
*
my last unsatisfaction notes.
again just thoughts.
do your best argument to this one.
cuz maybe i'm not writing any notes again.
*
Nobody respects a poet- they just don't care.
Inciting prejudice upon what we write, calling it 'emotional flair'
and misinterpreting our meanings- labeling our works with one word,
be it 'pretty', 'confusing', 'superb', or even 'absurd'.
No one focuses on the points that we're trying to make-
unnoticed are the tears upon the trails we've had to take.
Visual stimulation and the next quick fix
is what grabs the collective conscience in an iron-clad fist.
The paint for our Picasso lies within vocabulary-
our inspiration? A cigarette, the local library,
the pain of losing someone, rediscovering life-
this can all be used as fodder for the fire that we light
within our minds- we put our very lives out on the line
to elicit a sense of insight to what we've seen in our time,
but no one wants to hear it- they turn a deaf ear
to our outpourings of adoration.
Of hatred.
Of fear.
They don't respect the craft- for example, I could rant
on
with a
line-break style
and you can
still understand
the
point that I'm trying to make- this is art.
For alot of us out there, this is where life starts,
within the word- we find ourselves amidst a pen,
a piece of paper & make use of determination from within.
We don't seek recognition- we're not in it for the fame.
Most of us don't write to get people to know our names,
its our artistic expression- don't lessen that aspect
just because when you read what we write you can't grasp it.
we don't get no respect, but that's okay, because we've got poetry.
my last unsatisfaction notes.
again just thoughts.
do your best argument to this one.
cuz maybe i'm not writing any notes again.
*
Nobody respects a poet- they just don't care.
Inciting prejudice upon what we write, calling it 'emotional flair'
and misinterpreting our meanings- labeling our works with one word,
be it 'pretty', 'confusing', 'superb', or even 'absurd'.
No one focuses on the points that we're trying to make-
unnoticed are the tears upon the trails we've had to take.
Visual stimulation and the next quick fix
is what grabs the collective conscience in an iron-clad fist.
The paint for our Picasso lies within vocabulary-
our inspiration? A cigarette, the local library,
the pain of losing someone, rediscovering life-
this can all be used as fodder for the fire that we light
within our minds- we put our very lives out on the line
to elicit a sense of insight to what we've seen in our time,
but no one wants to hear it- they turn a deaf ear
to our outpourings of adoration.
Of hatred.
Of fear.
They don't respect the craft- for example, I could rant
on
with a
line-break style
and you can
still understand
the
point that I'm trying to make- this is art.
For alot of us out there, this is where life starts,
within the word- we find ourselves amidst a pen,
a piece of paper & make use of determination from within.
We don't seek recognition- we're not in it for the fame.
Most of us don't write to get people to know our names,
its our artistic expression- don't lessen that aspect
just because when you read what we write you can't grasp it.
we don't get no respect, but that's okay, because we've got poetry.
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