Shoes too big.

Sometimes I feel like I string words together without meaning
Pointless poems
But they sound so good together I can’t bear to split them up
They mold like the best of friends
Or like Barrel Monkeys
Hung up together by my hand
Arranged in color patterns for the effect
Look what I made isn’t it cool?
No function
Amusement I suppose, with no depth
A child playing around with physics
An amateur trying to sound like a writer
I feel proud of my achievement until I see the others
God, look at what they wrote
Such metaphors that it steals your breath
Mine suddenly like paint splotches under the guise of a masterpiece
Shame in my bold feelings
It draws me down bending my bones
I pull myself back up with old encouragement
Practice, practice and you’ll get there