Sweet Lord

AGAIN with the two poems, to be handed in tommorow.
Whenever someone tells me "I can't sing" I refuse to beleive them. I usually respond:
"Sing dammit. it's not about singing well or badly, it's about beleiving in yourself."
Now here's a free tip, from me to You. Never, NEVER say this to someone until you've heard them. Me myself, I think I got that attitude from my mom. Poor misguided woman. Because every once in a while you meet, or, even worse, move in with someone who is tone-deaf, and your pep-rally speech gets them started and never stopping. Ever.

It kinda gives you the feeling of dread Dr. Frankenstein must have felt when his baby ran amok. You sit there in your now designated corner and only freind - appropriately named Bud - and rock back and forth, tearing out tufts of hair. In a perfect world, this would only be metaphorical, but alas such is not my luck.

But I had a point with the tone-deafness, in that I am convinced that some people are poem-deaf. Which doesn't mean we don't know how to tap our feet in time with the rythm of the poem, or can understand the beauty of them, but that we can't for the love of God, or good grades, write a decent poem. Being okay at writing prose does not mean that you are the new e.e. cummings by proxy.

So why the pressure, why the pressure?
Free me, free me. Free me from rhymer dot com and the shame of handing in a set number of A4's of poems which, mysteriously enough, all come back smelling like fish.