Reality Check

I love angsty poetry, don’t you agree?

Glorifying addiction and staying up until three

Spending all night coming up with new rhymes

Like popping vyves when you open your eyes

Because you dread each morning when you wake

In this endless cycle of romanticizing heartache

 

Drowning in affluence has created an epidemic

For originality and purpose fuelled by aesthetic.

Attention and validation have become our obsession

Writing poems that are filled with angst and aggression.

Pretentious idealists think this is poetic

However, me personally, I think it’s pathetic

 

You must be growing so weary and tired

Trying so hard to be authentically inspired

But your originality soon will expire

Leading to writing that eventually backfires

With a poem ripped off from John Green’s best seller

You really won’t come across as the best compeller

 

This obsession for misery is your fixation

But plagiarized poetry leads to ego deflation.

Liquor and drugs are your favourite muse

And more often than not a convenient excuse

For explaining your fuck ups, I mean, mistakes

And it hurts the most when you’re up thinking late.

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