The Poetry

Constantly she is faced with similes, metaphors, hyperboles, and other figments of her imagination
she runs her treadmill life enjoying the scenery that passes by
she talks as if her greatness is a product of her wisdom
yet she knows little
and such sagacity . . isn't sagacity at all
isolation from the world is her greatest desire
yet she roams giving hugs to people, animals and things
she is hypocritical to herself and she kills her life slowly
yet she is filled with wonder
her wonderful mind
gives off the illusion of genius
because what she speaks attracts
even gold gives off into her magnetic effect
but she has no wisdom . . .
she has no skill . .
she is unattractive . . .
she has no faith . . she has nothing. . she is nobody
but her poetry is the poetry of them all who have nothing in common