Poetry to me? Hmm, lemme see

I’ve heard of Angelou, Poe, and Abani

But something strikes a cord

with a pen and bamboo tree

Transformed to ink and paper

That combination, it gets me.

It listens to my thoughts, my cries, and my praises

It listens to my joys, my insults, my crazes

It doesn’t question why, why not, or with who

Just accepts the stroke of berry

And goes the course that I choose

An “outlet” some would say,

To deal with ways of nature

I say it’s a passion

Regardless of good or bad behavior.

Exercising the brain,

Stretching one’s vernacular?

A Foolish thing to waste

A Foolish thing indeed! It’s spectacular.

Poetry to me? Hmm, lemme see…

Let’s call it a coping mechanism,

To get me through this degree.

This poem is about: 



Beautiful *snapping fingers*

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