Writing

I can't write, I can't type,

My internals R in a fight,

The light in my dots, is 2 bright,

N my stretched skin, is flared white.

I don't feel tops, to see youz,

But still want, to be with youz. 

You're fundenental, my writing crew,

I'm jus 2 twisted up, 2 write wiv uz.

U don't want to see the ooze,

From my wounds, seepin thru the gooze, 

Or numeriz cutsiz n bruise, 

All cluz 2 my need, 2 b soothed.

Or the darts in my eyes, 

As I try n fail 2 disguise. 

The pain n anguise inside, 

From a kneecap 2 my ego n pride.

So I sit alone, in my own zone, 

Ignoring constant beeps, on my phone. 

Soon my home won't be my own,

I'm vanished, alone, time wasted in stone.

© 2026 - All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

The Golden Goddess

She's the Golden Goddess,

A great writer but always modest.

Teaches us N critically honest,

One of the few I'll truly miss.  

She's either mixed, coloured or black,

With pronouns that tickle my sack. 

Her skin will never ever crack,

N her writing is pretty whack. 

We all listen like kids,

As she lifts the literary lid. 

On poetry n stories already writ,

N let's us write our own shit.

She's a full Zoom faced wonder,

Teaches us all like rumbly thunder. 

Lightening fast we're no longer dumber,

N she ignores R odd writing blunder.

Our lessons R always a blast, 

Making us write gold, so very fast. 

Puts her college kids on their own arse, 

So I jus hope, my own poems will last. 

The Golden Goddess was a gift to me,

She helped set my own writing free.

But from Covid, we all had 2 flee,

To Facebook, phones n PCs.

So to Michele, I'll always say,

That on my very own final day.

I will appreciate u deeply always,

For allowing my work 2 B displayed. 

© 2024 - All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid