365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fourteen

I don’t care.
I can’t.
Shoulda kept it in your pants.
And been what I needed.

I can’t be.
Who you think I am.
She doesn’t exist.
Outside of your mind.

I have no will.
It left sometime in the midst of.
Broken promises and.
Broken homes.

I am nothing.
Writing stale.
Soul empty.
And so I can’t.


About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: