I want to write but
all I write is
Garbage.
And who wants to read that?
That’d be like
digging in the trash
to find
rotten leftovers
and expecting anyone to
eat it.
It’s not a 5-star meal.
The words start as
thoughts in my head
and end up like
garbage on the page.
Stinking of second-rate talent.
Smelling like weak attempt.
Oozing desperation.
I cling to the notion that
I should be doing
this.
Grasping at my titles:
“poet”
“writer”
“artist”
Hoping I can be creative in
any way.
Hoping I can still make this
work.
So, tell me,
Who wants to read my
Garbage poem?
It may be my best yet.
J. Bodwell, USA
The Social Poet 