Run

My thoughts one night, put into some semblance of verse.

Didn't I say long ago that I was going to write every day? 

What is so hard about that?

A commitment.

A choice.

Run.

I run so hard and so far from those kinds of things. 

Even without my realizing it. 

When did that start? 

How did that happen? 

I think to myself 

in futility, trying to imagine 

how I couldn't have realized it. 

I run away from everything good 

that could happen. 

I run away from everything bad as well. 

But if I'm always running, 

when will I stop 

and actually do something. 

No. 

You have to stop. 

You have to do something. 

I want to do something. 

Please let me do something. 

It's not too late, 

is it? 

I don't want it to be too late. 

I sit 

and I rot 

and I'm dying 

without even realizing it. 

Such melodrama, 

but it's the truth. 

I certainly don't want 

to rot away and die here. 

I want to be heard. 

I want to be loved. 

I want to go 

and do 

and see 

and touch 

and be. 

I need to let myself do that. 

I need to do that. 

I need that. 

I need. 

Need. 

Reviews

[Robert Parlange]

Introspection. A write about that strange power that holds us back from accomplishment. I like the tortured tone of the poem. It brings out the desperation of the speaker. Very emotional.

Keep writing.