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.