I HATE POETRY (not really)

I HATE POETRY

Or rather, I hate how we're supposed to do poetry. Like a lab rat, structured and naive. Writing about things we don't even fully understand ourselves. Oh, what hypocrisy. I don't even fully understand why I'm writing this right now, with a movie playing in the background trying to drown my problems with distractions. Such sweet distractions. But that's another story.

Now, where were we? Ah yes! Poetry.

Well, think about it, how do you see poetry? Nay, what do you see when you hear the word poetry? I'd bet a hundred dollars (No, not really) that the image in your mind goes a lot like this; a structured composition of rhyming words formed in couplets or quatrains or whatever it is you prefer, a few mismatched words found from the deepest parts of the dictionary- thesaurus, whatever.

It doesn't matter.

The point is, they're all the same. All those words and rhymes and rhythm are all the same. It may be from different writers, from different experiences, emotions and all that bull-trap, (sorry, I'm trying to minimize my curses) people spin from nowhere just to tell themselves; "Hey, this is unique." or, "Hey, this is different", "This is original.", "This is mine." Well sorry to burst your bubble, but none of it is true.

There is nothing unique in this world, nor is it ever going to be different nor will it ever be yours.

None of it is yours.

Let's face it, people write poetry for what? Leisure? Personal use? Ha! That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard, personal use. Whatcha gonna use it on? Some kind of reference? An autobiography? Like anyone is going to care. No one ever cares unless you're already dead or dying or famous. I think I might have accidentally quoted someone on that.

Point is, there is no point.

In living. In dying. And on anything in between.

And that's why we write; to be heard, to leave a mark. To try to be someone unique, someone inspiring. Or to be famous, whatever floats your boat. But in the end, what we really want... is to matter. May it be to a whole bunch of strangers applauding and asking for autographs, or to just one person that went out of the noose because of your work.

Because of you.

And I think that's enough to hold on. To keep on writing. Till my last breath.

(But I still hate poetry)