I find it much more difficult to write

To tap tap tap into my own mind

To indulge my words and to delight

In the soft and sweet poetic kind

A man I knew, or did one time

Opened me up and made me feel.

He sang me songs and wrote me rhymes

When Christmas came he broke our deal.

I find I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t

Continue this, writing is hard.

A wish to me I wish you’d grant

Don’t have me show you my last card.

I can’t I can’t, won’t show you me.

Because if you, if anyone knew

If I showed, what would you see?

I’m a coward, a player, I wear a mask

Give me Dickinson, Twain, Plathe,

Donne. I’m done, for

I find it much more difficult to write