Monday to Thursday
I've had all that time to do this
What did I do instead?
I'm never going to finish this
I'm never going to finish anything, really
Because I keep dragging and dragging
And dragging and dragging and dragging and dragging
How many comments were there?
Three, four, five max, maybe?
Fifteen. In one page.
And I've waited four days to revise!
Ugh.
I don't want this anymore
I don't want this feeling of my life getting sucked out of me anymore
What I want is to write
That bestseller sitting squarely inside my head.
What I want is to be free
Of the professional restrictions I've signed myself into
I want money.
Not lots of it, because that's messy AF
Just enough to free me.
Just enough to help me stop pretending that I'm editing
When in fact I'm just hitting the ESC button
Over and over and over and over and over again
To make it sound like I'm typing shit.
YOU ARE READING
Free Rein
Poetry"The human will, in its search for freedom of expression, becomes a self-destructive impulse." -Victor Terras Second collection of my poetry.
