I've read two poems about kissing today
Something I read about each other day
I've read about insomnia and sad rhymes
I've heard the bell of memory ring to hard times
I've read about poems titled three and eleven
I've read about a child expected to be in heaven
I've probably read about Tenth Avenue North
I've read so much today, for all It's worth
I've read about the rain in Karachi, poetry and trance
I've read about fate, destiny, hard work and chance
I've read torture, sadness and heavy grief
And somewhere somehow It's all but relief
I've read about flies patterning samun's window pane
Soon as she opens, I've read about a poet's pain
I've read as far as the trending, "Drunk a few "
I've read so many and more are still on the cue
But I've realized in all of them there's this one thing
I've read without tiring because I've read me
Spread on the white pages of hallo poetry
I guess It's true what they say
About the poet being one thing as the poetry
Some are and some ain't okay