I hav a proffesor that doesn't seem to like my writing. All the other students in the class write all these heart gushing introspective poems and I'm not into that. What do u think of this poem
He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know and that pisses him off
He’s confident he knows what he knows and that pisses him off
He figures if good is disguised and evil’s revealed what good are his eyes
Those who know him call him a hypocrite and he agrees
Although it doesn’t mean much because he sees what he sees
Others walk around blind making life a breeze
While he finds himself confused in front of a pew on his knees
Now he resigns to his basement a jungle of trees
Overcome by the stench of spice and pine, earth and skunk floral scents entice his mind
Entice his greed but risk his prime
Blur the line of his life and insert a lifeless line
He is to walk not talk the code of his kind
A kind confined to a box who themselves latched the locks
Risky choice, stupid choice, risky choice, not smart
The sound that comes from a strangled voice but is muted by his heart
What part of this is fun what part is he supposed to like
Now he resigns to his basement with the bright white light
The light green leaves sustained by the white bright light
The light green leaves he sees are not quite right
So he grabs his bottle and turns the nozzle to the right
And sprays away thoughts of the day fade away
The thought of the day was the stagnant state of his life
He finds being drown in his work a perk the proverb was right
He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know and that pisses him off
He’s confident he knows what he knows and that pisses him off
He figures if good is disguised and evil’s revealed what good are his eyes
Those who know him call him a hypocrite and he agrees
Although it doesn’t mean much because he sees what he sees
Others walk around blind making life a breeze
While he finds himself confused in front of a pew on his knees
Now he resigns to his basement a jungle of trees
Overcome by the stench of spice and pine, earth and skunk floral scents entice his mind
Entice his greed but risk his prime
Blur the line of his life and insert a lifeless line
He is to walk not talk the code of his kind
A kind confined to a box who themselves latched the locks
Risky choice, stupid choice, risky choice, not smart
The sound that comes from a strangled voice but is muted by his heart
What part of this is fun what part is he supposed to like
Now he resigns to his basement with the bright white light
The light green leaves sustained by the white bright light
The light green leaves he sees are not quite right
So he grabs his bottle and turns the nozzle to the right
And sprays away thoughts of the day fade away
The thought of the day was the stagnant state of his life
He finds being drown in his work a perk the proverb was right