You sit yourself in the cell
for the murder of your ambitions,
shotgun filled with "I can't" and "I'm not"
glazed eyes pulling the door shut.
On the outside I watch
an innocent man sacrifice his worth
because he falsely believes
himself unable.
I tap the key against the iron.
Occasionally, he picks it up
but never inserts it
for his betterment.
I wait and suffer
wondering quietly
on our uncomfortable chairs
who is locked out.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)
PoesíaPoetry of varying subjects and construction, the second of three. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. Accolades: #1 Thought Provoking 2/26/2020 #1 Self-Reflection 3/22/2020 #1 Creative Writing 7/24/2020 #3...
