Whenever I tell someone that
I write poetry
The phrase seems to stick
A stigma I've been drawn into
Willingly, for a time.
Since the first written venture
Perhaps it was ironic then
Trying to hold my laughter
from nudging my scribbling pen.
A break from reality through
A breakup, it came
The inspiration was laid quickly, and heavy.
A string of emotions inked out in black, and blue
But never red, I was told it was rude.
Reserve your opinions if you wish
But to my eye, no restrain will do.