wish i wrote dark, about deep insecurities,

a struggling childhood, i wish i wrote

like others with words of wonderfull

syllables,  bells ringing,

you know.

 

wish i wrote long tomes, to bore myself

rigid. to tap the hours away till bedtime,

early.

 

wonder if i shall write serious,

tell thee all  hard stories that

don’t exist. i wonder if i shall stop,

when no one reads.

 

this is a time to wonder at the

dark hours leaving, waters receding,

black trees slowly turning. wintergreen.

 

sbm.