Why do I put the journal down
when all I want is to move the pen
across the lines in the sloppy fashion
that comes with being left handed?
Why allow myself to drown
in unmotivated zen?
Under the surface lies the passion
yet here I float, stranded.
It will never be enough
but it will always be too much.
Reality lives before me
still I would rather fantasize.
Challenge the imposter to fisticuffs
kick away the unsupportive crutch.
Steal away the key;
let there be no compromise.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)
PoetryPoetry 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...
