glued together with bonds of failing marriages,
engagements don't survive and the kids are leaving home.
tied down and trying to escape with death's carriage.
my family isn't much, but it's better than being alone.
university is soon, but i'm full of such disparage
i don't want to be me, i just want to roam.
my poetry is barely audible, hitting the wall and falling
flat against listening ears. is this all i'll amount to?
writing alone - at 3 am - always missing my calling?
life's gambling, i realise, i can't help but feel blue
i told my drama teacher about my poetry. i want to be more open with poetry, but i feel as though my poetry is below standards and doesn't compete with other high intellects. i'll never be oscar wilde, but i'll settle for just oscar
