Poetry can be so simple.
And yet I try to be complex.
An easy word can't be deceiving.
Or can it? I digress.
Why must I try to make these words,
Read like a college thesauruses?
In my head, "a giant, prehistoric"
And all I mean is "tyrannosaurus."
Jumbled words of spoken truth.
There I go again.
Up, down, escalate, descend.
Why must I play pretend?
I feel, I know, my audience will understand.
The meaning of complication.
I sift through words to sound astute.
No need for explanation.
Flip the script, art is subjective.
I need not try to expand.
What's fine with one, is not for another.
Its MY art, you see, and you remain my friend.
Those last two lines
Didn't even rhyme.
I changed the game you see.
Because my words,
aren't always for you.
Sometimes, they're for me.
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