A Poetic Disaster

A Poetic Disaster

I’m a poet, allegedly,

Though my rhymes fight me steadily.

I light a candle, sip some tea,

And scroll for memes religiously.

I once wrote “pain” twelve times in ink,

Then spilled my drink, oh a poetic kink.

I called it A Flood of Inner Grief,

The judges called it comic relief.

I seek deep truths, I chase the muse.

She ghosts me like last week’s news.

My metaphors are bold. Profound.

Except the ones that flop and drown.

I pen my soul in tortured lines,

Then post at half-past stupid times.

Three likes. No comments. Just my mum.

She writes, You’re weird, but love you, hon.

So here I stand, a poet true,

Confused, amused, and broke in two.

But hey, I’ll keep on spilling ink…

It’s cheaper than a shrink, I think.