Process

Someday I’ll be
The laureate of self deprecation
I can’t tell the creativity from the highs
And I think more than not
It’s one and the same

My father used to tell me
That poetry is a joke
That rambles on and on
And you listen
Eagerly awaiting the punch line
But it never comes.

I fear he’s right
But sometimes
I manage
A chuckle.

I think he must have
Laughed so hard
It killed him.

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