More Words That Make My Fingers Hurt
I pick it up, I put it down,
I start to write, but never end,
it's never enough, the words are tough,
I break when I should bend.
Perhaps my will is weak,
perhaps I don't know how to fight,
perhaps I only battle,
when the wrong feels so right.
My enemy is endless thought,
like a sub conscience need to feed,
up goes the pen, down go more words,
until my fingers cramp and bleed.
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
