in the vast, blue sea
a ripple is born.

it churns,
rises,
pulls,
ascends,
intensifies,

breaks
onto the shore.

Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,

If you’re reading this, you’re probably asking
Me to share some things about myself.
But before I answer, you should know this:
I hate this question more than life itself.

Now, how do I begin; where do I start?
I think I have forgotten who I am.
You see, I live an uneventful life,
So I’ll just exaggerate the best I can.

I have a desk job at a doctor’s office.
A foot clinic - to be exact.
Come in to see us if you’ve got a bone spur,
Or toenail fungus, or if your heels have
cracked.

Sometimes I can be funny, when I try.
But if you have to try, then you’re not funny..
How is it that I work 5 days a week
And still feel like I don’t have enough money?

I enjoy running, reading, writing poetry,
And going out for breakfast on days off.
I used to get embarrassed pretty easily,
But now I’ve learned to simply laugh things off.

That’s all I can come up with as of now.
By now, you’re probably sorry that you asked.
I wrote this poem to make myself feel interesting
And I thank you for helping with this task.