Wanna

i wanna write

i wanna fight

but it's easier to raise my pen

than my fists

and deep down inside

i feel like being snide,

this partially quelled rage

insists!

here's the thing

i don't know

what

to write about

but i do know

who

i’d like to punch out

i’m not naming names

or making lists

my hands are hands again,

not impotent clenched fists

i wanna sit

in the woods

sit in the woods

and chill

no cold shouldered

ill will

no fight no flight

no imagined slight

and only then

blessed will be

my next bowel movement

i will assume

an unassuming

almost casual air

i am the pope

and i am the bear