A Poem of Last Resort

You are my poem of last resort Perhaps you are not finished Maybe you are no good Could it be the bit about my mother? No, it’s not too harsh – funny really Guess, I really don’t like you Not exactly sure why You are just my poem of last resort When all inspiration is gone I will share you then Pull you out for others to see For now, you sit in a file Not knowing what you did wrong Doing nothing, but wanting to say something You wait – isolated, sequestered Endlessly wondering When your time will come