Poem 1

Waiting, sick of waiting, faking, sick of taking. In need of a big move now, do not want to rot like the fields of cows.

Stagnant, unknowing, sick of not knowing, too scared to know, to be known or to grow. Some things I regretfully hope to unknow.

Life isn’t always kind, take it like a man, you’re to old to cry. But I’ll break down at the slightest shatter, holding it in, longing not to be a slacker.

Whack me at the knees, as you please bruised bumped and destitute, I’d follow around on your lead.

Everywhere we’d go I’d never feel at home, not sure what to think of home, except a place your meant to leave.

Make and create, your own to your taste, then spit it in your child’s face.