Getting off to bed each day
With an unrefreshened mind.
Worried and brooding fear, hey!
It's been my norm, nevermind.
I would have grabbed a pen and sit with a coffee.
'Cause I used to write endlessly;
And yet I sit there goofy.
So then I overthink, crazily!
I would have written a novel;
If I have stroked this pen nonstop.
But I've been a ne'er-do-well;
So I only have a mindful crap.
I would have made a volume;
Made many of fantasized men.
But since I turned lazy-in-gloom;
I have made plenty of problem.
Oh, yea! It's hell.
It's unmoving, I need a stir.
And yes, I'm sad and repelled,
And an anxious, far from a writer.
YOU ARE READING
Just POETIQUÉ
PoetryWere you lonely? Were you sad? Has everything been bad lately? Unlike the beautiful times you've had. Smile with me. Cry with me. Get mad with this soul. Maybe we'll find a way out of the cold. -JAM MARIANO
