It’s been many, many years since I’ve sat down and tried to write some shoddy poetry. I used to do it in A-level, but, since I left school, since I’ve had a job, I never saw reason or time to try my hand at the thing. I once thought what I could write was really good; I got some worthless award in junior school for my amazing poetry about flowers, so, in the spirit of my five year old witterings about flowers, I try again. I’ll probably write more as time goes on here. I don’t know:-

I don’t know how to write anymore
I cannot build any prose
I daren’t lift a finger in cause
For fear of being exposed

I want to write so much
I want to say my bit
I want to tell the world I’m rich
In thought, in feeling, but I really need a hit

A hit of something strong
Alcohol it may be
Pot from my mate, could he
To say my bit to thee

I cannot put what’s in my head
On paper or in prose
I fear to be seen as what I am
I fear to be exposed

I fear the world’s exposure
About who I really am
I fear judgement and contempt
I shouldn’t give a damn
But I do.

My world, set so bare,
And empty, lets me dare
To tell that I have no hope.

Knowing I cannot mend,
I so dream of my end,
To go and be gone,

I know of my life,
There isn’t much to write,
Not enough to bite,
So go?


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