Honey Rhine

This title is deceptive.

I am sick of writing poems.

sick of looking at, thinking of,

or otherwise obliterating words.

sick of showing,

waiting,

hoping,

faking.

I am sick of

playing off indifference

as something not personal.

I am dried up,

sticky with metaphors and simile.

Suddenly,

i come to being,

looking inside,

moved by something out side and feel a need,

a need to express,

a need to say

something.

something,

pertinent.

prove I am myself.

Show my feelings they are accepted.

But I am sick of writing poetry.

sick of pretending what I write is poetry.

Instead of words

expressed

some how

badly