too muchMature

help me, for I have forgotten how to write

Four poems,
three mugs of green tea,
two spoken words,
a glimpse of sunlight,
and I don’t know what contentment is supposed to feel like,
but I do not think it’s this.

Special providence in the fall of a sparrow,
maybe,
but only if you’re the fucking cat.

I’ve read a lot,
and pretended to have read a lot,
and the only thing I remember from the many books
and the many poems
and the many pretend poems and pretend books and pretend people
is that I really -

Have no idea where the hell this was going, anyway.

I’m awake
and I’m breathing,
and I’m pretty sure my heart is beating and that my
stomach is dissolving the apple I just ate
but it’s wholly unsatisfactory and I’m
still hungry
for something more than the
fruit that caused the end of time.

I am legion, for we are many –

Many disgruntled noises and
tears at 3 in the morning,
and happy squeals and
apathetic sighs.

Many words and many ideas
and nothing
logical

Dammit, Sorcha, Write something more
ordered
structured
WHERE IS THE RHYME
WHERE IS THE ASSONANCE
WHERE IS THE ALLITERATION, CAESURA, ON-O-MATO-PEIA, and WHERE IS YOUR IAMBIC FUCKING PENTAMETER

I am too angry for caesura
and too proud to rhyme.

The End

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