b-LAH-que

You make me hate my poetry

Now and then I write
Creative bents may steer my sight
I make a mess of what was right
and put it into words

 

And late at night i think
And mistake for depth what only sinks
through mucky murk of opaque stink
And makes my ego hurt

 

I\'ll read a thousand times
rewritten, all the same old lines
that try to give me what I\'d find
In an inspiring verse

 

And when I\'m on the verge
Of making something I find worth
Exposing what\'s so true it hurts
You make me feel the worst