Artchitect

Here is another poem that examines both the art of writing and the structure of it being a hobby (career?). That is the prime inspiration behind the title, as well as it being a meaningful modification for the sake of definition. It is fitting for a poem about the construction of words to be named thus.

Artchitect
By: Shadoe Lass

I’m on top of the world
But only when it is upside down
Nobody ever looks this way
Because they’re all scared of clowns
If I told you I was happy
Would you see that I was down, and out, and loud

I know that where I am I don’t belong
I’m a cyclone in the atlantic
I’m spinning backwards looking
But to the viewers I’m only looking frantic
And after this is over
They still will call me manic, satanic, inorganic?

I’m the architect of empty space
And I’m lost in a daydream
I make something out of nothing out of something
Well isn’t that so serene
Because why would it even matter
Unless there is a screen, a meme, a joking belief in me

I can’t say what I really feel
Because I swear I don’t feel at all
And yet sometimes it’s real
That I feel bound to fall
And still I know I’ll stand steel
Another brick in the wall
When it finally is real
I’m here standing tall
But alone - as always as all

ThE oNlY tHiNg MoRe AbUnDaNt In My BlOoD tHaN cAfFeInE iS pOeTrY