I should find a reason to get out of bed,
try my best to move my legs.
I should put clean clothes on,
but the washing machine is already full,
and I've forgotten
how to turn the damn thing on.
I don't think time has a place in me.
I should brush my hair
but know the brush will take offence.
I should feel something more, anything
but it's icy inside my soul
and I'm begining to like it that way.
I should forget like a child
upon the first day of school
but still it hurts me so.
I should find a way to pick the letters up
that have littered the floor,
but there will just be more tomorrow.
I should put a plaster on my cut
but it's funny for the first time,
I don't seem to have any.
I should find away to close this book
to stop and start again
but I can't find it in me to.
I should look for a way to say goodbye
and see things in light anew.
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Comments about this poem (Reason by maria goodison )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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