I wish I could just find the words
to say what I want to say.
Everything would be simpler
if my life wasn't in constant disarray.
It's falling apart, not at the seams,
but at every touch of thread;
perhaps this morning when I awoke
I should have stayed in bed.
It's simpler to hide from what you fear
and hope it goes away,
but I've found that my covers are no good
at keeping my troubles at bay.
And so I write a thousand lines,
trying to find the words, instead,
but searching them out from what I write
is a task that brings me dread
Because I find, so many times,
and much to my dismay,
that my thoughts can't seem to find my pen
and instead have gone astray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem