Poetic Licence

My Poems.

My Poems.

 

I wrote as a child, my therapist said I was a delinquent

All I was asking or ever wanted was someone to listen

Into adulthood I no longer wanted to be verbally heard

In written words, thoughts and feelings were deferred

 

It is very clear I will never be a very educated man.

I don’t just sit down and come up with a poetic plan.

It is just when my head is full of the incoming words.

I reach for a pen, start writing and hope that it works.

 

I am sorry my poems are not positive and lovely jubbly.

Making everyone feel all warm, cosy, snug and comfy.

That make your heart sing to the wonderment of life.

Giving everyone nice things to dream in bed at night.

 

I cannot write about happy fairy tales’ fiction or fantasy.

I can only write about my own sad thoughts my reality.

The experiences I\'ve had and my feelings on the world.

That\'s the only way I know for me to get my story told.

 

I have never written poems to educate, preach or teach.

In the normal world I find it incredibly difficult to speak.

It is my only way of at last expressing my rooted feelings.

In the hope that one day, I’ll have some understanding.

 

I know mainly they paint a picture of all doom and gloom.

Of a troubled person locked in living in a darkened room.

Yes, that’s because that is where I have lived for so long.

Yet through writing my journey to light has slowly begun.

 

I do not possess a large amount positivity and happiness

It could be said my sad writing is totally out selfishness

It releases some pressure from my constant depression

My Head to my heart, raw, honest, heartfelt confessions

 

There will be many people out there who read my poetry.

Who to them as well it is their true experience and reality.

To them I am hoping seeing someone put the truth to words.

Gives them all some hope that one day they will be heard.

 

To those who think when will this depressing poetry end.

I can only say probably never and apologise once again.

Well, is that really the time, I must be going.

I can hear the words already for my next depressing poem.

 

Tobani April 2025.