Every Day
Oh not again,
It's the same every night.
Straight after tea
You sit down and write.
Writing your poems
And the stories you tell,
It wouldn't be so bad
If you wrote them to sell.
Don't get me wrong
It's not about money,
Some that you write
I think are quite funny.
But the car is a mess
The gardens overgrown.
If your not writing poems
Your playing on your phone.
I work every day,
And I come home to this
To a sink full of pots,
Are you taking the piss.
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