Not a Poet

Nasha?

Maybe I'll bring back the 'ol podcast.

Not a Poet

I put words on paper.  But I'm no poet. For to be a poet, Would mean to bare, All that I,  Have spent my life, Running away from. I'm no poet.  I put words to paper; I write what I know Will elicit a response, That will be favourable, To the serotonin, I seek.  I'm no poet, I'm just a coward.  A coward who  cowers, Beneath thinly disguised, Words.  Words that convey meaning, But not to me.  I write rhymes, And silly lines; Couplets, And God knows what else; Just to get a rise, From all who read these lies.  I'm no poet, And I don't think, I ever will be; This veil behind, Which I hide; It's comprised, Of rhyming lines, And metaphors. I write of facades, For writing is one.  I'm no poet, Coz I'm afraid. I'm simply terrified, Of all I hide.  What if my soul I bare, And no one cares?  I'm no poet. I simply put words, On paper.  I'm quite the faker, For while you read, These foolish poems; And think to yourself, I'll hide my soul, And lock it away; For you won't find me, Through any of my poems. A poem on not being a poet. Ah, the irony.

Mediocrity

This episode is also available as a blog post: https://penguinpotatopanda.wordpress.com/2019/02/04/mediocrity/

Birth/Death

A piece on how one's perspective on the anniversary of their birth and their death changes with time. This episode is also available as a blog post: https://penguinpotatopanda.wordpress.com/2020/07/22/birth-death/