Bad Poetry

April 8, 2013 at 10:07 pm (Uncategorized)

Looking down at the world through half working eyes,

That cannot see five feet in front of me; nor the future.

I can fix the vision, but not the uncertainty. I look, think, and do not know.

Outside my window is blackness. It doesn’t judge, it simply is.


I am bad at poems, but the words do not judge me. They sit.

I too sit–here on my bed, writing words, failing to express.

I wonder why it is I speak so well but say so little.


I like poems that rhyme, but in the end,

they are just word games. They aren’t saying anything…they’re just another distraction.

I am happy and sad all at once. The words fill me.

I think to myself that perhaps bad writing is better than no writing.

Any good writing I have ever done has come out of bad writing–this I know.

Is this the bad before the good?


More likely, it just is what it will be. An untalented poet in a mill town, in the dark.

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