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.
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