April 10: Write a suffering poem

The one in the back get its hopes up
every time I need a cup.
Always, I pick the one in the front
and, again, the one in the back feels unloved.
Who suffers in my solitude?
Not me.
The glass in the back of the cabinet,
untouched, unseen.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

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