Like the angel you never thought you were
Until all the hypocrites calling you names hear
The notes they can't hit

Whoever they think they are
Hearing your toneless voice but not the
Odes you speak, that are beautiful songs just on paper
Reality, set into it's prettiest form. It's fiction only
Ending every stanza with a rhyme

But you're left wishing they would see
Inside the poetry you sing, not just
The sound of your voice going
Clumsily off key but
Holding every word like a baby in your throat

Hearing every word you wrote as an
Opera echoing into your ears

Can they
Understand there's
Nothing worse for a poet
Than being judged by your actions instead of your words?