I don’t write a poem a day,
Silly little things like to hide sometimes,
Or maybe I’m just afraid of what they might say.
But my sporadic articulation that’s creating
The paintings of pasts, and things that prove
I have lived somehow doesn’t mean
I’ve left them neglected.
I’m just well rested.
Just means I do it different than you do.
But if I’m not as dedicated...
**** well less is less I guess.
You are always telling me I should write more,
Well when you pretend to care, you do,
But
I don’t
Think
That’s
true.
Turns out that one poem,
The one no one said a thing about except that one guy,
Who’s my friend..
Is getting published.
So I was just wondering if my
Quiet well-spaced poems
Get a say now.
When my poems speak they say big things
Published or not it’s the same **** thing.
And this one
Just wants to say a word or two ..
I would still do what I **** well please,
But mostly, *******.