I cannot see, remember how to post a poem so I shall use the reply box.
It’s not about the money
It’s about forgetting
Imagining a different reality
one in which WE ALWAYS WIN
A contented, organised, secure life with the notion of being IN CONTROL
It’s not about the winning
It’s about the losing really
When we have nothing left our pockets match the emptiness in our hearts
Then we snap awake from the walking dream to find ourselves stranded yet back to square one
Square one is familiar territory
We know,, what to do here.
We breathe, we cry, we dream of doing better some day soon. Next time.
Over three years I’ve waited for him
As if gambling isn’t punishment enough
I have a plan. Plan B for the plan B
Working towards ascendance
If the people we loved truly listened there would be no corner for poetry
There would be very little misery
Hello victim mode, introducing moi
A paid up member of pity me anonymous
Readers you indulge me terribly and I thank you for it, truly x