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He makes me sick.

His pretty little
     simply put, simply said
     one liners, one stanzas
Woo them all.
He's gained recognition
    featured speaker spots
    even respect and admiration
His chapbooks draw them all.

His style is not my style
     so there's no "converting" to be done
And while I too would like to woo
     such an expansive audience
I cannot do so at the expense of my pen.

And for that matter, I am not like her either
I do not have hate, angst, anger, and disgust
     bottled up
My daddy didn't abandon me nor abuse me
My mommy didn't ignore me
     and while I have tragedies of my own
I have yet to make them into poetry slam material.

But that's what they want, isn't it?
It has to be 
     simply said or simply sensational
Understated or over-the top
And those of us with too much to say
     in too eloquent a way
     get lost in between the lines, the rhymes
     and the judges evaluation forms.

Someday
I too shall sell it
    simply say it in my own unique way
I shall scream it, ululate, lament  
     over the top
You want to see my wounds, my scars?
     I've got just as many
     just as deep
     I keep them guarded, close
     concealed
They are my secret weapons
     and so while I prefer pretty prose and playing pretend 
     fantasy tales that beg to be told
Some day
One day
     I will take out my ink and daggers 
     and make fans of you all.
SincerelyLori.com © 2012 – 2014. All Rights Reserved.