poem with a foul mood, for
such a foul mood, about a
rotten mood. Let this be
the last time I feel so alone.
If poems are answers, then
you tell me, what is the
answer to how I’m feeling
right now? As I dive into
this, I realize I’ve been here
before, I always get myself
out of this. That should be
lesson enough, but it doesn’t
change how I feel, does it?
I just checked. It does not.
If I seem a lesser poet for
dwelling on this, then so
be it. During times like
these, perhaps I should
go with my normal mode,
which is faking it. But not
today. Today’s mood is just
too foul. If poems are made
to hold answers on how to
be, then this is no poem. It’s
just a rotten mood, that’s all.
Like mine. And what of it? Isn’t
it rude of me to expose myself
in such a way as this? I’d say
so. But also, today, I’d say
so what? What of it? What
would you have me do? What
I normally do? I could come
back with Isn’t authenticity
king these days? Well, who
wants an authentic horrible
mood? Who wants an
authentic rotten day?
I think this was not the
best decision, going ahead
with this while feeling so
incredibly defeated. So
how about I promise next
time, the next one I sit down
to make for you, how about
if I promise to somehow,
even if I don’t feel like it,
knowing that sometimes
if I try, it does help, the
next one I decide to make
for you will include at least
something positive. How
about that? I promise.
