It's Friday already.
I've been working 10 days in a row.
My mind has fled me;
I guess it had somewhere else to go.
It's Friday morning, a half a hour into the day.
I've just deleted over 50 poems on this website.
Those poems were silly, not famous, and had nothing to say;
I feel like I'm a self-loather and someone blew out my inner light.
Who cares what damn day it was or is going to be.
I'm a loser in every moon ray, starlight and sunbeam.
I CANNOT write and I am discouraged already.
Where did I go? Why aren't I happy and where are my dreams?
Delilah Miller
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/uncertainty-leads-to-questions/
