Written in anger and confusion
Should the feelings of guilt
outweigh those of resentment?
Is the fear of loneliness
worth more than fear of rage?
Is it wrong to long for simplicity
and abandon the search for contentment?
Is it right to write words of anger
on a blank, unforgiving page?
Is it wise to seek solace in poetry
when every act of writing
is seen as an act of selfishness
that can never, ever pay?
It’s not getting laundry folded
It isn’t for "The Family"
And it seems, word by word
to be taking you further away.