Maybe I’m Not A Writer

My mind shoots off
I sit down
to work
I’m already over my head
and loving it
for some strange reason
I go ahead
for go everything
love it
leave things
in my wake
do they miss me
I don’t know I miss them
until after
Just the way it is
but I’m feeling hurt
and that’s
Something I pay attention to.
So I write.

What the hell for
to get this goddamn shit out of my head before it explodes into bits and pieces of electricity
fleshelectric.

What.
Like a rapper who’s lost his way
What. What. Uhhhh. Uhnnn-huhhhh.

It’s like I can’t find
like it’s not there
but I know it’s there,
and if I stay here long enough
I’d find it
but really I just want to tuck in with my kid
and be something solid for him in this big
world.

So maybe I’m not a writer.