More (a poem)

I may
Be happy
Angry or sad.
Or possibly
I’ll simply be
Nothing at all.
An ambivalent
Mess of emotion
Or lack thereof,
Is more likely
The state of mind
You’ll find in me.
Why be happy
Or mad
Or even sad,
When you can be
So much more?

Wrapped Up (a poem)

I’m working
Eight to five,
Building dreams
By the hour.
Pay the mortgage,
Buy some dinner,
Send the kids
Off to camp.
Draw the blinds,
Shut the door,
Burn a candle
In the night.
Building stories
Word by word
While staring
At the clock.
I’m no starving artist,
But neither am I
Corporate sold.
Both feet in reality,
While my heart’s
In broken pieces,
Wrapped up
In a story
Written
As my family
Sleeps.

This (a poem)

The brightest
Eyes,
Never seen…
Peering out
In a frozen state.
Joy and sadness
Intermingle…
With anger.
Yet, hope
Is all
That remains.
Days,
Yet to come,
A vague promise
Of a different
Life.
It’s the only
Thing
That makes
This…
Bearable.

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