Sick of Me
Time and time and time again,
shaking hand and black inked pen,
poised above the prelined sheet,
where thoughts and rhymes and memories meet.
Trying to see the glass half-full,
feels like wearing itchy wool,
to my own self must be true,
the color of my world is blue.
I hate to bring you people down,
my poem's angst goes 'round and 'round,
Even I am sick of me!
So there I go, just let it be.
©Danielle White
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009
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