Me Myself and I

Sometimes I just want to write a poem for myself. Myself is laughing, thinking I am being cute or funny. I chase her into a closet and put a broom handle against the door. That will show her who to tease. Today’s poem is going to be rocking, funny, witty, maybe hilarious. I have no idea yet what the content will be. Is that a big deal? Doubtful. I is sneaking up to the closet to let myself out. We don’t need her! I shriek. Me is right behind her, attempting a rescue. Me, myself and I, I write. But then I stop. I have nothing. The words are not here. And this sounds trite and overused anyway. Maybe I will write a poem tomorrow.