Poets And Feathers

I could write about eyes
And shyness to the pigment
I could write about parks
But to that you wouldn't listen

So i'll write about my broken
And my painful shameful too
All for the brisk purpose
Brain matter can say its you

But I could write about June
And you would have no idea
So instead i'll write about pain
and jumping off a pier

I could write about money
And things that I don't know
Poems are about deception
The're all the same to show

People read the vowels
That the'll say are simply them
About breathing in air
With a simple message sent

But real poets

They look at the ink
And break it down to letters
They look oh so closely
They could see the type of feather

That had scribbled on the page
And written all its sorrows
All for the simple fact
That we'll do it again tomorrow

For poets are more broken
Then the spaces between our words
Poets need the feather
So they pluck it off the bird