I Exist

I can’t write poetry.
I fucking hate a lot of things.
Here they come again.
Words and more words.
meaningless simple words.

I am sure it will mean something to someone somehow.
Fuck this and fuck that.
look I cursed – I’m no Shakespeare,
though I admire him,
and every great poet since.

I am my poem.
I am a bad mood, a lazy day
a stoner and a drinker.
who believes in God and the devil too.
I am elated, a hard worker friendly and humble,
yet lonely,
but today is just today and this moment is just this moment.

I can’t write poetry
I write my mood, my thoughts, my day.
I write my hopes and dreams and nightmares;
my failures.
I write my courage to conquer the future.

I am no great poet, no great man,
I am no great friend or son or brother,
I am no great Christian,
I may be half demon,
in the end,
I’m just another human.
I exist;
and struggle daily to make meaning of what that means.

Ron bergquist December 19th 2014

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