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.
reubenwoolley 