Peculiar Poetry

Poetry with and without reason and rhyme.
Strange is what I strive for.
Expect lyrics and limericks, free verse and format.
Be prepared for bubbly and boiled, terrifying and horrifying.
Keep an eye out for those that provoke your thoughts, and some that bear no thought at all.
Many written for class, and others without much of it.
Feel free. There are no boundaries. Just think.
Consider, Ponder, Wonder, Imagine.
Argue, Oppose, Debate, Defend.
Perhaps you will be offended.
That's good.
Think about that.
Learn more of what you think.
How you think.
Take what you can from what you hate.
I don't seek to preach.
I only speak my mind.
A mind most peculiar.


31. "Barely Poetry"

I once had hobbies 

Aspirations and goals 

As I allowed myself to land where I may 

To drift at the mercy of fate 

And then, I lost them 

It was all so sudden 

I didn't want them to go 

But I couldn't prevent it. 

I love to draw 

To create astounding portraits and figures and sketches 

Of which I can present with pride 

Although I still do 

But hastily 

And without much care.

I love to make music 

To sing sweet melodies

And practice piano to my heart's content 

I relish the opportunity 

Yet it's lost its luster. 

I love to watch videos 

To delve into a television series 

Or binge a list of anticipated movies 

And let the gripping stories take me with them 

Nowadays, I can't bring myself to give into any of it. 

I love to write 

To spawn lores and characters that I hold so dear 

And spin it all into a tale worth reading 

Yet my drafts remain in their lonesome purgatory 

In the terrible realm of Unpublished. 

I love to make poetry 

To sew together lyrics and meaning 

Into a glorious garment of conviction and emotion 

And look at this: 

This is barely a poem. 

I've lost the motivation to create 

To take my time

Because I'm busy

I'm tired 

I'm uninspired 

I'm disinterested 

I'm distracted 

There's always something else I could do 

And how dare I not do it now? 

I even want to get myself into reading, 

I can't remember the last time I sat down with a book 

But I know that I would guilt myself out of trying 

Because there's something better I could be doing 

I could do homework that isn't due tomorrow 

Because I shouldn't procrastinate 

But when I don't do it 

Dread overtakes me

It's coming 

The deadline is coming 

In over a week, but it's coming 

And you haven't done anything 

What if you don't do anything? 

You'll fail the assignment 

You'll fail the class 

You'll be a failure


Surely keep up with your hobbies 

Because if you don't stay sharp

If you don't submit that art 

If you don't play for a coffee shop

If you don't finish the book 

If you don't update that poetry compilation 

You won't be known 

You won't get noticed 

You won't be relevent 

And you won't get anywhere 

You better get out there

Or else an office job is the place for you


Don't make art for the recognition 

Because then it's not art 

Art is supposed to be fun 

To make a statement 

How dare you? 

You're not a real artist 

You're a fraud 

It's a circle, and I'm spinning 




It hurts. 

I hate it. 

I hate it so much I can't explain it. 

I'm snagged in a perpetual cycle of anxiety that I don't know how to stop 

But the scary thing is 

I don't think it will 


This might be what growing up is. 

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