Shoes in the sun
Try so hard to be someone
then you forget what you’ve become.
Your day job is a constant frown,
your diadem, a leaded crown.
You strut the streets with oppulence,
yet are not paid your recompense;
you lie, you cheat just to get by.
alone, you’re broken, and you cry.
The world’s a stage, but not for you.
You cannot ignore what is true:
You’re a filthy, broken destitute,
at best, a mental prostitute.
Why wither, when you can regain
the treasure that you still disdain?
I’m thinking about opening a photoblog on wordpress.com soon.
I should change this site from a poetry site to a general tumblog.
So I started this new blog, I call Where’s The Fridge.
It’s been great so far. The response has been positive. A quick primer:
The blog is where I place all those thoughts I can’t communicate well in verse, or photos. Most of them are candid comments on issues the world over.
I’ll be exploring a wide range of subjects.
Will keep you posted. Here’s the link: