Writing 100 poems In a month & feeling accomplished Until looking up From my paper & realizing My pen has written Nothing In the book Called Life That my eyes Read everyday; Am I writing My book, or Just some Fanfiction for An imaginary Life?

Miserably Misinterpreting Me

Growing up reading words, then Reading words about those words I grew up re-reading & singing & So never actually writing, 'cause By the time I picked up my pen I was already tired of fools So full of fumes & their selfs Miserably misinterpreting Me & though I'd never written a word Already I'd … Continue reading Miserably Misinterpreting Me