These stupid poems I write keep piling
As if anything new has happened
Outside I've grown good at smiling
Inside I'm still left so saddened
These words don't spell out a grave as I wish
I can't spill out my heart onto a bleached dish
My thoughts are scrambled, honestly
All I want is to call out desperately
To tell anyone out there that I have a story
I'm not very exciting, I know, but bear with me
I've spent years trying to put this into words
I've failed, even in therapy, but I move forward
Still, it's humid in my head, foggy nonsense
Hence the repeated ugly B.S.
So what can I do to elaborate improvement?
Rather than laying in bed to avoid embarrassment
I've lowered my standards so I'm not too short to reach
So every intrusive thought knows it's easy to breach
Like rats, infesting my brain
When truly I'm not insane
I've illustrated my thoughts in agony
Having to remember the bad things they've done to me
The ache never leaves
The pain learned to weave
The cracks in my voice
They leave me no choice
I'll admit
What I want to commit
YOU ARE READING
Why Don't I Write You A Poem
PoésieI write poetry all the time to an empty audience. I don't expect posting it here to be any different but at least I'm putting my work out there.
