Grammatically Insane

I write

when sun (is) bright

November rain

December cold (in) sight

blood shall burn

when I slash that tale

hidden in closet

and spamming my mail

jaded, grey

I, standing (as) a prey

lurk(ing) in fire

am nowhere in fray

you (have) won

while I lost my way

one lone spark

that nervously sway(s)

they call me a cripple

and say words have names

they breath, they grow

and I put them into shame

they mock at me, satisfied

marking my attempts vain

what's my fault

and with joy, they say-

"You don't deserve to write

of smiles and pain

a weak link you are, oh don't feign

you are no author, you are no poet

you are a fake,

'cause you are grammatically insane"

This Poem is shared with

• Three Word Wednesday - Blood, Cripple, Lurk,
• Wordle 185.