Sometimes I write poems
I know what you’re going to say
“You’re a writer it’s what you do.”
That statement is true, but let me finish
Sometimes I write poems, not for my own
Enjoyment
Or
Pleasure
Or because I’m simply
Bored and can write
Sometimes I write poems
For you to read
You may say
“It’s good”
“It was dark”
“That was sad”
“You missed a comma, stupid.”
I know…innumerable times, my friends, I do
But Sometimes I write
So you read it and think
“What was the purpose?”
“Where was the muse?”
“What happened to inspire you?”
I’ll smile,
Flash you the whole grin, not half
Because I’ve been waiting…
Waiting….Waiting
For you to ask
Maybe I’ll be brave and say
“I once was in her shoes.”
“I was bound in chains, ready to give up.”
“It’s my memoir in less than fifty words.”
But Sometimes I write
And sometimes I share
But Maybe I’m not so brave
And all the courage I mustered
Is punctured in my heart and seeps through
My skin in a clammy sweat
The room closes in on me
My mask is slipping from my face, the ribbon torn
And I simply smile at you and say,
“Sometimes I just write sad poems, there’s no meaning”
So I lie
I can’t tell you it’s me!
Red flags, flashing signs
She’s me, I’m her,
We’re the same entity
But Sometimes I write and
I rip the paper, because
I’ve lied one too many times
And wasted were the signs
I wrote for you to read
Sometimes I write
And no one will ever read