I decided to put myself out there,
to break up the awful January gloom,
I went along to the spoken word poetry night,
climbing the stairs to this little room,
where gathered fellow poets and scribes,
who all took turns to read from their books,
I listened and waited for my name to be called
but it turned out I had been overlooked.
I headed for home, absolutely raging
done with poets, poems and pen,
annoyed with all of them and myself,
vowing never to come here again.
Back home, I mentioned to my parents
that I was giving up writing poems and rhyme,
my dad said I don’t bloody think so,
my mum said that it would be a crime.
My folks succeeded in talking me round.
They encouraged, persuaded, cajoled.
I went to bed that evening a poet
for life, with no chance of parole.
This is me taking poetry back
and making it a thing of my own,
I’m staking my claim on poetry
but I’ll be reading and writing at home.