"You promised you'd quit.
I know that you tried,
But in the end
It turns out you lied.

You promised you'd try
to quit again.
But you weren't any more successful
that time, my friend.

This time will be different
You promised me.
You'd give up your pipe,
You'd be **** free.

But you're still smoking tweak,
And I've given up hope.
You'll always love me less
Than you love your dope."

iM Feeling Hopeless
iM Feining, iM Dopeless.

I believe
That writers are
So brave
Because each time
They start writing
Blotting ink onto
Their paper
Frustratingly typing on
Their laptop
Frustratingly typing on
Their laptop
They rip their heart out
Of their chest
And show the world
What it's made of.

I often look in the mirror
And ask myself who I am
I then compare myself
To castles in the sand
I'm blown away by the wind
Pay for my sins
And the melancholy begins

I often look in the mirror
And ask myself why I let
People who hurt me
Take a fragment of me
All the pieces I need
Leave me here crouching
Gasping for air to breathe
No one to hold me

I often look in the mirror
And ask myself
Why I let weakness get the best of me
Why I let the tears fall
It decreases me
Makes me feel small
I have to reinstall happiness
In my life
Be strong through it all

But then I look in the mirror
I see a champion
Cause I've been strong through it all
My soul never breaks
I always pick up the pieces
And the strength in me
Suddenly increses
Solid with no creases
That's the power of Jesus

I'm sometimes asked with feigned surprise,
"You write poetry?"
"How Divine!
Give us a sample of your
favorite rhyme!"

But I know what they're thinking.
I see it in their eyes,
"What a waste of time."
"What a joke."
"Better hide the silver,
cuz these types are all broke."

Poetry doesn't pay the bills.
That part is so true.
But, don't deride my compulsion,
or my next hundred verses
will be about "you!"


~~~