I've never really sat down to write a poem

Just sat to write thoughts from my head

Never really thought to write a poem

Maybe I'll write one by the time I'm dead

 

But now I sit facing a window

Wondering when the next storm will be

I sit facing a window

My laptop comforting me

 

Because I hid behind technology 

While millions starve in the streets

Millions don't have technology

What makes me so lucky?

 

What makes my problems so relevant

But only relevant to me?

Expectations of follwing guidlines

Extruding me to be . . .

 

Just another face in the crowd 

Walking down the street

Wearing a suit and tie

Holding a brief case all my life

 

My only fear was to be boring

Now I realize

Boring is the only way to make a living

 

I sat down to write a poem

And this is what it said

I sat down to write a poem

Can't wait to end up dead