Bad Poetry Weekend: Sometimes I Worry I Know Too Much

Sorry guys, but it’s bad poetry weekend this time around. A few days ago, I had the sudden and most unfortunate inspiration to write a few verses while listening to this song. Of course, I cannot find any audience to share this and you have been chosen the reluctant consumer. In my mind, I imagine you love me enough to put up with my bad poetry – that or I’m just narcissistic enough. Either way, you have no choice but to look, and maybe cringe, throwing up optional.

In uni, I learned how to write poetry. I think I’ve mentioned this before. Prose and other forms of literature came naturally to me, but poetry is something that has to be studied formally, and perhaps I’m  just a lucky bastard to have a mentor who is totally in love with poetry and is able to transfer that love most successfully.

I never took to poetry on my own tbh – I found them too cryptic and you know me, I tend to waffle on. Now I can say I love poetry as much as prose, though I still suck at writing it, God forbid not both. If I get inspired another time I’ll talk about what exactly it is about poetry that I like. Anyway, enough babbling, enjoy my bad poetry and may it be bad enough to straighten you out nicely today.

Please Don’t Ask Me

(or bad poetry produced by my 15 min break just now)

Please don’t ask me why, or how.
I can never really know.
With you, it’s a maze, a serendipity almost
Where I’m lost, without control; concealed
In a world surreal I never knew,
Or simply dismissed;forgotten, until you.

Please don’t ask me why, or how.
Maybe I don’t want to know.
With you, mysteriously, the days have flipped;
Where I’m left bewitched, probing logic,
Musing how I’m here and madly splitting, shifting
In ways beautiful, indeed most surprising.

Please don’t ask me why, or how.
I can’t reveal the secret I think I know.
With you, prophesy I refuse to do, or dare I?
This gray area, maybe with time I leave to rest;
For now it’s not here nor there, but waiting, I am.
For now, it’s not here nor there, but maybe I’m open.

—

Photos taken from here.