I sell myself short 
with these small rhyming pomes
I could make a da-vinci
and hang it in homes
I choose humour
simple simplicity
hiding intelligence
probably a little shitty. [ditty .. pitty..]
Conveying small problems 
as huge world war 8
this is my head
and it tends to dictate.
It makes storms in teacups
and wildboars in shops
my brain hiccups
and it calls the thought-cops.
The storm ends though
but not so my passion
It rekindles my life
in a funny sort of fashion. 
A stop start motor 
of a rickety car
my brain is my achilles heel
but its also my star.
This poem is about: 


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