They say “Use simple words!”

(As if simplicity could cage this tongue)

While I juggle syllables like precious stones,

Making monsters from mere letters.

You think English is complex?

Try wrestling my mother tongue—

Where each word is a labyrinth,

And grammar dances on knife edges.

But today, I brandish my poetic license

Like a new toy in untamed hands.

Watch me paint with gibberish,

Creating worlds from nonsense:

Twiskinglefritters bloom in midnight gardens,

Their discombobulated petals catching starlight.

The shkimctersphinxt prowls nearby,

Dripping crimbdigmigins from ancient fangs.

(Did you catch that?

The way meaning slipped

Through your fingers like smoke,

Yet left impressions anyway?)

I could write of life and death,

Bridge chasms between classes,

Whisper wisdom to hungry souls—

But today, chaos is my canvas.

The seinkimuls gather at dusk,

Their shadows tasting of forgotten spices.

Reality bends at my command;

Each nonsense word a revolution.

Consider this your invitation:

Break the chains of proper speech,

Find your license in the wild.

Let language serve you, not the reverse.

But remember our pact:

If they ask who taught you

To shatter grammar so beautifully,

I was never here.