Why Poetry?
They often ask me (By the way
Who are mysterious ‘they’):
The poetry is useless ,
So what for are you doing it?
What do you want to tell us, bro,
Just take this cardboard bio straw,
Drink what you ordered, take a seat
(Why are you also drinking it?).
I’m being asked along my way,
How do you live your normal day,
How do you sleep, my friend, at night;
Are you above this all alright?
Okay, first yes. But no. But yes.
It’s hard to comprehend I guess.
I write a poem, it’s a game,
Like Britney. Oops, did it again.
And, day by day I try my best
To spoil with all this stuff my rest.
It’s kind of fun I should admit
(Or why I’m still like doing it?).
I take a word, another one,
I feel the rhythm, like beating drum,
Continuing, I cannot quit.
That’s answer why I’m doing it.
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