Lost in the midst of the daily grind,
One of these days, I'm quite sure
That as I write what's on my mind,
I'll write a poem I've written before

I used to think a
Poem was something
Out of reach, unattainable,
Difficult to create; I now
Believe it is a
Drawing out, a
Melding together, a
Composition reflecting what already
Exists, that needs only expression in
Words.

I wanna stop being so
Self-absorbed, but
I keep getting
Stuck, thinking it's
Too late to
Start now. The
Trick is to realize
There's a whole
World out there.

Rage, and Fight, and
Bare your feelings, and
Write.

The cure
Is to remind yourself
That other people exist,
That it is your
View of the
World which is
Warped, and not
Reality itself.

This day, taken in and of itself,
Was a great day!
Maybe yester-day wasn't so great
For my yester-self, but that's ok;
It was a different person.
I got my day and it worked out well,
I end tonight, and hope the
Person who is my tomorrow-self
Has a good day too, and like me,
Doesn't worry about the
Other days of
Other people.

I'm not
Interested in the
People who live their lives
As zombies,
Go to work, go to school, go
Shopping, who live
Without feeling,
Without curiosity.
No, for me, the
Wounded people,
Those who spend their days
In a haze of
Incomprehension, trying to
Come to terms with their
Thoughts, their actions, their
Feelings, which though
Denied, bubble up
Continuously, and sometimes,
Break through.