Nothing In Particular

I'm writing this poem about, Nothing in particular. It might be so, I don't quite know If this matter can be quite the tickler. As you read, What I write, Are you sitting are you standing, Or are you leaning to the right? Today I don't feel, Any kind of sadness. EEK! I'm talking to myself, That's the first sign of madness. I now that I'm sarcastic, But I'm not very witty. If you think you're so smart, Sing a funny ditty! HA! I bet you diddn't sing at all. I don't care, If you're big or small. Now whose smarter, May I ask, As I give you, Another task! Write a poem, Even better, And if you do, Send me a letter! I told you at the very start, This poem may not be a tickler, But one thing is quite for sure, That it's about nothing in particular.