.
it's when you wanna strike out that line
spotlight the third word, second stanza
I understand,
but am never satisfied
which is like seeing when you've plucked out your eyes
and you know that you're blind and yet still able to find
the mistakes that you've made

someone said,
'you need to get laid'
but it's not ****** frustration that ties me in knots,
I know where the hot spots reside.

it is some voice inside me that constantly chides me
and tells me,
I'm not good enough,

is that the stuff dreams are to be made from?

Could we cut and then paste a new life?
if not
what a waste it would be

I'm
still editing poetry and
she's ready to eat me
alive