The inspiration has left me again

Now I’m just alone and depressed.

I am bored with nothing to do

But play with this ribbon, a teal-like blue.

It marks the pages I have yet to write in

Dark green lines stretching from margin to margin

At some point I will fill you with random poems like this

When that day comes on my shelf you will sit

With other notebooks like you sitting side by side

Until you all fill a bookshelf sky high.

Thank you, plaid green notebook, for giving me something to do

For giving me a reason to write in you.



How you bore me,

with words that fall instantly

to the ground.

Speaking in such a way

that our heads

fall down.

Oh, how you annoy me

with your same, lame



so hard

you make me want to choke.

And you have

no excuses

when I’ve told you the truth.

No reasons

to deny me,

but my youth.

And you still

make me sick,

make me ill.

Tell me,

Mr. Virus

Can I cure you with a pill?