If I could get out of bed,
I would
If I could enjoy my meal
I would

I should, I tell myself
I should.

If I could write about things
that Other People talk about
I would
Things that win little red ribbons
and sit framed on walls in offices
Things that get into books on shelves
Things that make Other People
applaud
Things that no one is afraid of
Things that don’t make little kids cry
Hell, I wish I could

I really, really should

Instead I choose to hold myself
down and confess my
mediocre feelings that
don’t make much sense when read
but so much more when written;
weird india ink discharges
Ill thoughts
Shards of neurosis
And no one would care to enjoy it

But to confess one final word,
I’d always hoped that of course no one
would.