My keyboard click click clicks words into the void, but they just sit. I don’t know what I’m saying half the time. Not sure it matters. I have something to say. A lot to say if I’m honest. I just don’t always know what that is. Words rattle around my brain like marbles in a tumbler. I roll the dice to see what words come out. Sometimes its brilliant, sometimes its gibberish. I’m not sure I can tell the difference.
Looking around at other writers, they all seem so together, yet we’re all so tortured. Maybe I should stick to art. Maybe I’m better at words. I could always stick to the tedium of my job. Will this succeed? One can hope. Maybe I’m delusional or just crazy. I know I’m tired
I’m tired of the rat race. Tired of survival mode. It’s been so long since anything was easy. It’s hard not to take it personal. But I do what I love for the art and hope for the best. We’ll see what happens. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe someone will think I’m brilliant.
I like to think I’m mildly smart. I can string a word or two together. What is poetry anyway? Can I share my grocercy list? I mean, no one could stop me, but that would be pretentious. Though poetry can be very pretentious. I just try to be real. Maybe that’s the problem. But there is no other way. Spill my guts and let the readers clean up the mess.
At least its honest, at least its real. I’ve never been good at fluff or flowery words. Maybe I’m simple minded. Maybe I should have finished college. That’s a whole different poem, an angry one. For now, this is what we got.
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