I want to write bad poetry

In utter disarray

In spite of the doubtless disproval

Of what other’s just might say

My rhyme schemes problematic

My similes all for not

And the meaning of my verse

Fall into the wayside of forgot

When I describe my love,

meet me with chuckles and guffaws.

If you much give me praise

please be mocking in applause.

If I describe the emptiness,

that taints my forlorn sight,

Deride me with honesty,

Though I won’t say no to spite.

For I am looking for acceptance,

I am looking for a friend

Is it not a sacrilege

To use writing to this end?

For someone to fall in love with me

Because of what I pen upon a page

for someone to whisper softly

the words “magician,” “mage”

Praise may be pretentious

And I am but its whore

Hating it but all the while

Needing fat lips to whisper

“More.”

A stream of words illiterate.

That naught but I would see,

I wish I to write this bad poetry,

But I have not the courage inside me.