Late Night Poem

Squawk

The sounds don't sound right.

The words don’t quite match.

My voice isn’t what it should be.

And my body isn’t what it was.

The self that talks is negative,

But it dreams of optimism.

I am not what I want to be.

But I am who I am.

I don’t love myself.

There are only two ways out.

Getting better, in sickness and in health.

Or

throwing in the towel

and

crying uncle.

Reviews

[Masked writer]

Oh my, such words in sorrow..