By Daniel Ali
You readers trust written things too much,
honesty is not a poet’s obligation –
even unfiltered thoughts are pulsed through a poetic sieve.
Adulting is unclean–
mediocre and cynical,
like an untuned piano.
Who am I?
I’m a hoarder’s untouched basement,
artefacts of everybody I have ever met.
I occupy the space in my head too much,
resorting to memories
to find feelings.
This comes naturally to me,
divulging like this,
I wish I could talk to her so fluently.
Societies and times change
but people never do.
Stale progression, stagnant evolution.
Today’s snow is cold and
my dog will not settle.
I think my brother has the flu.
Featured Image: Toby Dossett