Poem 28: Courtesy of 1-4-2025

I’m afraid of the wrong tune, I’m afraid I’m too long for this. I’m afraid I’m wrong for you, My eyes must seem defeated. My arms weigh heavy on my shoulders, Shouldering pain from my wrongdoings. Can’t wait for the long weekends, Holding in faint hope I can bury my face, My face’s long drooping. Been meaning to write up a haiku, I mean, I guess it can wait, Guess I won’t get to it any day soon. My best writing can’t hold its weight, I’m just not good, Trauma dump on these lines, The smell of fresh paint. My room after writing, Smells of faded joints stank. Posted a poem and I don’t even like it, Pat myself on the back, ‘It’ll get better,’ ‘Thanks,’ I think.