My Letter to You
Start. Crumple. Fidget in chair.
Start. Crumple. Twist of hair.
Now I know what to say!
No, I don’t. Lean away.
Start again. I’m in a daze.
How do I count the ways?
Crumple. I’m dead.
Roses are red.
Crumple. Sigh.
Struggle. Why?
Why must writing be so hard?
Maybe I’ll just buy a card.
This poem is about:
Me