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Poet
There's a certain type of poet,
That irks me to my core,
One whose words,
Are as shallow as their thoughts,
Whose works, are a testament to
Their lack of passion,
Lacking consistency and form
It's an eyesore to witness.
Although take this in good faith,
I do not mean to slander,
But to show,
The error of your ways
Hate is passion turned outward,
Having love for something,
Makes you riled up,
I hope for you to improve,
And for me as well
© Wyv3rn
That irks me to my core,
One whose words,
Are as shallow as their thoughts,
Whose works, are a testament to
Their lack of passion,
Lacking consistency and form
It's an eyesore to witness.
Although take this in good faith,
I do not mean to slander,
But to show,
The error of your ways
Hate is passion turned outward,
Having love for something,
Makes you riled up,
I hope for you to improve,
And for me as well
© Wyv3rn
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