A Feisty Me
Scrabbled words
in my face,
I don't know how
to phrase.
I run outside
to ask for hint,
from the chickens
in a tent.
They don't answer
nor bother,
but I'm sure they
never falter,
because they
know how to fight
though they are
not might.
I go inside
and start the write,
the feisty word of life:
"fight"
that's the start
of my thrill track
of this crazy world
where I stuck.
Copyright © Maris Warrior Tuazon | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment