Poem: Rusty

Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to start writing again. Not anything in particular, just daily things to knock the dust off the cogs. I am a fucking writer, after all. I guess it’s time to write. Here is a little poem I just spit out to express my feelings toward a thirteen year, rollercoaster writing career that’s been disappointing at best. Still, it’s far from over…

Rusty by C. Derick Miller

The pipes are clogged

The wheels are stuck

No reason why

I’d give a fuck

To start again

Stare down defeat

It’s not been fun

It’s not been neat

This writer’s life

Of cat and mouse

I spit the words

Throughout the house

And echoed rhyme

On deaf ears fall

I took the chance

And missed the call

But wait, the call?

It never came

Oh, woe is me

A crying shame

This wordsmith fate

Not like before

The cliquish few

The hidden door

I won’t hold back

To spare your soul

This generation’s

Stripper pole

So take your turn

Just mind your grip

This slippery game

Of just the tip

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