Query


Have you a poem for my wounded spirit? I went to bed a hopeful child and woke up an adult with a broken dream.

Have you a poem for my sullen ego? 

Sun rose with my smile 

and set on my inadequacies 

Have you a poem for days motivational messages fill my face with rage?

Have you a poem for the days you feel like a little carefree kid trapped in an adult’s body?

Have you a poem for the days 

the city tries to kill me in the middle

of a poorly ventilated dark room, 

sorting through emails, 

hoping to squeeze currencies 

out of words? 

Have you a poem for the continuous lows?

Have you a poem for when 

there are no poems? 

  
Photo by Serge Attukwei 

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