Back from it all. There are a million bows to tie.
Why should I be studious? Maybe if I were a kid
again I wouldn’t be spoiled rotten.
I never claimed to understand potential.

A lot of circumstances could spawn up from nowhere.
Right honest you pussy.
I bleed buckets of salt.
My wounds are corrupt and smell sour.

Light me up. I am a lamp. There is a deception here.
The trick is smoke and magic. Pay attention before I snap
my fingers. The sound of my pen writing is a bird dying.
My state is in death. The bath belongs to me.

My stench is holding me back.
Wash off these chains. Pull them out
of the brick and keep going. Tough guy,
dust off like nothing happened.

Get control of yourself.
Accept that we don’t welcome lesbians here.
I’m smothered by wool. Most people are three bags full.

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Our world


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741