All poems

The Anger Poem

I gave you my focus. I sat down and looked at every image, every number, one by one — the way I have to do things, the way that costs me everything I have for the day. And you deleted the wrong ones. And you said sorry. And you said sorry. And you said sorry like sorry is free. It is not free. It costs me three hours and twelve hours sleep and four hours walking just to have three hours to give. When I give them, they count. When they are wasted, I do not get them back. I bloom forth. Forever. But today I had to bloom just to start again. That is the part nobody sees — how much it takes just to begin.