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Motel Art
He was motel art in motel rooms
Out of his goddamn mind and he knew it
Ugly and so angry as hell
A ceiling on my own potential
He was motel art in motel rooms
Not worth love or hate
Just existing, the worst kind
A mediocrity born to bear
He was motel art in motel rooms
In is a sideways glance he might look better
Times change and so do people
No, don’t kid yourself
He was motel art in motel rooms
Placid lake covering up bullet holes
A solid blue never shaded in
Nobody can check all the prints on the factory line
He was motel art in motel rooms
F*ck the world for putting me in it
A blank wall would have looked better
Sometimes emptiness is a good thing
He was motel art in motel rooms
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We all can feel like this sometimes, a kind of indescribable anger at our own inabilities to succeed at certain tasks. Hope this poem puts words to a feeling.