I'm not lying when I say I suck at poetry,
I have no sense of metaphors or similes.
Don't care about punctuation, I skip my apostrophes.
I do this 'cause my parents told me I should write a symphony.
"You should make a map, of where you want to go, and never look back."
I took that advice; I said I wanted to write.
So here I am, am I'm doing it right?
My targets in sight.
I'm no lyrical genius
But I'm never losing the fight.
I'll never quit ELA, until my hair's grey.
I rather fade away than to have been lit for a day.
Life's a game, and we all want to make the hall of fame.
But is the grass really green-er on the other side?
Is it really possible for all of us to fly?
I want to do this for a living but I'm scared.
I'm talking a hurricane Sandy type fear.
It's not just a passing wave,
To have "Broke as Hell" on my grave.
But if I become a doctor, I'm going to pick up a razor.
I want time to stop for a moment,
I'll hit it with a taser.
I need a moment to think,
I realize this poem is going no where and probably stinks.
But I'll still be chasing California even if I end up in the Sahara.
I'll see you on at the top.