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

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