just let me write poetry

deadrose, get a phd

Man, I just cant escape poetry.

Do you know how difficult it is to be surrounded by

all the words I hate, all the sentences I hate,

which flow around me, ugly in structure 

choking me until I must vomit a poem

between somewhere and somewhen?

My friends, I wont be complete

if I run down a path of numbers.

Though, numbers I find easy, one two three.

Application of such in sciences are easy too three four.

But should I go down a score just for five six

a path which is derived from utter nonsense eight nine? 

Mother would be happy

She wants a life simple for me

Me me me,

yet me wants to be more than I could ever see. 

Detective Deadrose has a balancing problem, stay or run?

Stay for Grey boredom forever ever more?

Leave for a nation that might topple any second moment,

Hostile to the cloth,

and the rose hidden in its folds?

Just let me write poetry.

Poet I am,

subtle small changer,

I could playfully write about all the stuff

I could excel in,

rather than specialize

and burn out the flame of

passions kept alight between heartbeats of hours.

Ten.