I’m totally not ready for this
When I have to think of words my brain’s amiss
Maybe I should write about my first kiss…
I can’t think of anything to write
These people think I’m crazy
I think they’re right.
Do they understand how hard this is?
My poetry is either a miss or a hit.
My brain is a big pile of
What time is it
Man does time fly.
All I can do now is try to buy
Into this thing they call rhyme
And this thing called “reading aloud”
Maybe my poetry isn’t meant to be read aloud.
It’s just my ponderings
Where to go next
in this rhyme scheme,
this time scheme
this mysterious scheme of life.
It’s not finished yet.