about a girl with ratty hair
who has a book published
and I don’t.
SOUR GRAPES! you cry.
And you are right
but it doesn’t mean
her poems aren’t crap.
I feel very much like Bukowski
here – or Linkin Park
I hate my rhymes but I hate
everyone else’s more…
Really I am not as Bukowskian
as I’d like to be
nor as young
as most fans of Linkin Park.
I’m a nearly middle aged
English teacher who attends
therapy every other week
to work on her anxiety and depression.
I wish I had rage issues instead.
It’s much more topical
and hip. And I’d have more energy
in my writing. Hell, maybe
I’d even work out. Instead
I’ll probably put my head in an oven
or float bloated in a river
and people will say what a shame
how sad
I never saw it coming
and then that published bitch will write
a fucking poem about it.
–Heather Dorn