Poetry Free

Sisterpoet

Janey wants to sonnet mornings,
ode the oddest afternoons; wants to
just stop wanting and write.

All she can do is scratch her head,
twiddle her fingers at the keyboard
and refuse to close her bedtime eyes.

All of her todays are tomorrow.

———[||]———
Technically, I guess, it’s a sevenling, but I know Janey doesn’t like to be labelled, so…
—[|]—
.

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