My writing feels listless

Where is my flaming passion that I felt weeks ago

Is it because things are going well?

I am running out of words to say the same things about inspiration


I’m afraid of becoming repetitive

There’s nothing new in my life

I am working now on the grind, the slow crawling towards goals

Each day is boring, yet it is exciting to add up my daily winnings


I feel I need to express myself somehow

But I don’t know how to describe this

Perhaps it is because I am not used to happiness

And pride in myself is a new emotion for me


Is there beauty in simplicity?

I do not know

But it feels good to write poetry

Even if it means nothing to anybody but myself


I am tired

Having energy means energy will be spent

I accomplished what I meant to today

Now if only I would let myself sleep


Is this even poetry?

I can’t help but laughing thinking that it must not be

Luckily this is my space to express

And it is my own choice how I choose to share my thoughts


So rin-tin-tin

Put a sock on your chin


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