4I can't write right now,
but my mind is spitting
words without any beat,
any use nor any cause.
I have felt no overwhelming
love, joy, misery nor
any hatred, and I have
received neither favor nor
abuse so where is this
need to string letters into words, and
weave through spaces, dashes,
commas and periods coming from?
I've wasted too much
time on these typos,
little post-its, manifestos,
interpersonal memos
that I won't ever send
to anyone anyway so
why can't I just stop
spurting these nonsense so
I can go back to what I am
supposed to do, supposed to
be, supposed to become? Oops, there,
do you see? There
are too many supposed to's,
must-have's, should-do's.
Where is my freedom, my life
away from the bustle? Well,
I guess it's in these tied-up letters,
spaces, punctuation marks-
tuneless, useless, causeless, nonsense,
uncoordinated, but hey, what
is wrong with writing only
for myself, just so I can air out
the toxic leftovers from
bad conversations, and the
stagnant everyday thoughts
that have puddled from
the monotonous nine-to-six reality
of making a living instead of living?
Damn, I am late for work.
Yikes, please pardon the result of my minor quarter life crisis and immature bout of world-weariness on the morning of the first work day this year. I'm not ready to give up the holiday bumming just yet!