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If You Don’t Publish Bad Poetry to Your Blog, Is it Even a Blog?

I wrote a book called Write Bad Poetry. So when it comes to writing bad poetry, yes, I can literally say I WROTE THE BOOK ON IT. Ha! I love it.

I haven’t published said book yet, but we’ll get there eventually. The pandemic sort of threw everything into chaos + I had a 3 month long manic episode last year which was totally not fun and really got me behind on everything.

Anyways, to make this blog an official personal blog, I think it’s important to publish some bad poetry.

So, without further ado: I present to you a bad poem I wrote.

The Muse

Nothing can quiet the muse today - 
She inhales the spices of sage
And wants to make tea
But the lightning of fire
Has caught the disease
There’s not enough ink, not enough paper
She wrote a whole book in half an hour

She paints the doorstops
Red, yellow and blue
Next she knows
There is teal, orange and magenta next to you
Cadmium yellow
A beautiful fellow
Kissed Cinderella 
and she hung herself from the wall, 
staring at the ropes that started it all

The muse wants a blender, to combine all the things that aren’t to become all the things that are
And yet she longs for December and it just feels too far
She wants to make an inspiration box - a container to hold every fleeting thought - she must document decisions
So she may understand the lines

Lines are yellow, lines are red! I could talk about lines long enough to bore you to death. -

she whispers secrets of the living room floor
Why there’s black scratches etched by the door
She wants to try every solvent, she’s assured us we can solve it - yet -
She’s so loud we can see her no more 

She wishes to read lines about poodles in Faust
She researched how mountains were made
In case we should not be able to figure it out

Must we quiet the muse?
She is so well amused 
She’s got it all figured out

No time to dust the shelves! 
She wants to write you a letter
And draw you some numbers
The fireflies sparkle in sage
She’s found so much wisdom
At such a young age

Let us sing of the crocodiles
Who walked all those miles to to your house...
The muse won’t be shut in - she must be let out!

Now that we have a bad poem here, we officially have a personal blog! Hooray. 🙂

What do you think? Do you like my bad poetry? Tell me everything in the comments section below.

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