sometimes I think that poetry has to be big
that it needs to be existential or ground breaking
that it should be about one of the Big L’s:
life, liberty, love, loss
and that my dumb little poems aren’t poetry at all
but then I remember that in the end, everything’s fucking made up
from words to history to modern society
so I wrinkle my nose and write another stupid little poem
just because it makes me happy
The sudden burst and acknowledgement of happiness at the finale of this piece is beautiful and uplifting!
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