Habits or nature?
Or am I a failure?
It's resurfacing like a determined child.
Born to have gone wild.
Shall I bury it benith my feet?
Or await my defeat?
Oh they ask why I write poetry if it's always the same.
Confusing. Alluding. Manic. Erratic.
It's not writing but more like my life. Sunflowers and kisses? Isn't that all lies?
Yet you've never seem wonder why you hear cries?
I sit here trying to please you.
While you are on que.
It's not just one person.
You all seem to worsen.
Why call me out when you don't want to hear a shout?
I'll let you in on a secret....
There's no such thing as sweetness.