I’m rhyming before pen marks paper,
Revising before I’ve formed my thought,
Serving up these half-baked perspectives,
Before tasting what’s in my own pot.
And the letter soup that I spoon from,
Gets condensed into a shiny tin,
I market it off like there’s rawness,
Though no introspection from within.
This poem’s packaged as a product,
Boiled down, reduced to abstraction,
All this effort to sound effortless,
Leaves meaning lost in redaction.
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Author:
FallingAwake2 (
Offline) - Published: May 5th, 2026 19:08
- Comment from author about the poem: Ended up making this poem longer to make my point a bit clearer. Does this happen to anyone else sometimes? Thanks for reading!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
Comments1
Boiling off all the broth leaves the soup without flavor. Well written
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