I am too happy
        to write a poem,
Words can't describe my feelings

I am too busy
         to write a poem,
Crumpled paper on the floor

I am too sad
         to write a poem,
My mind is not here

I am unmotivated
        to write a poem,
I need motivation

I have too many excuses
          why I cannot write anymore,
but I want to, i just cant

Blonde in a red Corvette, free as a bird
Me, just a child, staring at her
Remember thinking, that's where I'm gonna be
In a red Corvette, at 33
No kids, no baggage, not even a dog
Stomp on the gas, and simply take off
No limits, no signs, just a juicy sunset
The wind in my hair, not an ounce of regret
She never saw me, but I'll never forget
The phoenix who flew past me, in a red Corvette

Imagine being a poet with nothing to say.
Vacant eyes fixed on your screen all day.
If a lost soul reaches out, you slap them away.
You pretend to be a poet, but you've got nothing to say.

I'm going to delve deep into the woods, and let falling leaves land on me.
So if anyone asks where I went, tell them I'm under a dying oak tree.
It's peaceful here.
My best friend's a deer.
Where on Earth would I rather be?