conversations with a sorry poet
i have made happy
three people in the past week
my mother, my father
and my closer friend, yepekali
she writes to me at five
to ask me if I've slept
and it should be a crime
that the replies repeat - not yet, not yet
well neither have I!
but what keeps you up at night?
is it the coffee? the stress?
is it memories of the guy who slept
on the left side of your twin-sized bed?
how to simplify the complicated?
i say all the above!
the coffee, the stress, the memories,
us trying to enjoy our 20's
me, hermit, in my bedroom, failing miserably
pulling out my hair
because all I'm good for
is writing writing writing
so then write!
and then some more!
what is stopping you from poetic galore?
how to confront the sorry self
the unhappy who makes happy - mess
oh well, you know how i can get,
i write only when it comes to me
and if it comes to me gently and sweetly
if otherwise, i reject it completely
no other critic as spiteful as I
as to glance at my writings
and think,
"pity,
must die, must die!"
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