Saturday, 31 March 2012
Battle of the poets
What a night what a night.
I prepare myself to read
some poetry for a night;
Not knowing what to expect
because the last encounter
the beauty of my poem
offending their special
Hell most of them were square
anyways, clapping like seals
at each others rants of expression.
Hosts ego as big as the hair
she was wearing, as she tries
tirelessly to entertain.
Although she greets me with a
sweet smile, in her tone I sense bitter
energy with the lemon I last left;
As she tells me "there are no more
spots for you" in a school girl way,
seeing I'm in her playground.
I accept and get on with the show,
watching act after act, admiring
those in the same art as me.
Just so eager to see the next act,
every time she popped on stage.
Finally there's an opening...
Dare i ask? well yes now to
see how much in primary school
we are in.
I drop my ego and walk up to her
in a intermission, where someone
is babbling on and over selling them self.
"May I feel this spot?"
With that tone of arrogance,
the type to let me know its
and I shall never be apart of it...