oh pardon and please excuse me
for I forgot that you are god of poetry
writting my feeble lines down on this paper
they are what's inside of me, so true
I might not use the fanciest of words
so that makes me second rate to you?
why does it feel like you must always degrate me?
spit at me while throwing it back in my face
you have the golden pen and pad I see
my words must burn the paper in disgrace
I didn't know true feelings were meant to be written like a book
proper and punctual
so that leaves me hung out to rot on this rusty hook
not allowed to write rubbish or shame
we must play along perfectly into your game
who are you to judge my true thoughts?
the way it's written or the way I feel
if these are the terms of true poetry
then I must break off from your deal
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