I cannot afford pride,
I’ve no time for pretence
such things I deride,
they’ve no rhyme, little rhythm and seldom make sense,
is my rage
turned on paper at this stage
against the poor actors on life’s grand stage
goes my fury at life’s flaw-formed cages.
railing, thinking in blanks
save for the words pouring forth in ranks,
upon this page, for such release I offer thanks
to my talent, for fear & anger it outflanks.
Among wily words I play
for none but myself, such works seldom pay
yet now, and then
they set me right again
my happiness key be a ballpoint pen.