I never know what to write about myself, so I write poetry, and pretend none of it's true.
Seventeen don’t call me a fool,
December comes I’m leaving school;
Three months left before I leave,
Time for me to do as I please.
...
Looking into her eyes,
I kiss her to my surprise;
Lips inviting soft and wide,
Urgency takes over my prize.
...
Start early each morning,
Work ahead still I’m yawning;
Drop kids at school day care,
Seven am we are all there.
...
Strong gusts of winds lash the house outer covering,
It vibrates in protest,
And growls with pain:
Waves of angry fury make the child want mothering;
...
She sat on my leg till it ached a lot, then moved
where it numbed and squat, gave me red pen
to fill in the drawing I enjoy a lot, we shared
this time together on the floor, as we sat
...