White Brick
There could always be clean cut poetry,
and a crisp untamed love.
I could always stop all my thievery
and write what I truly feel.
I could be whole
a stable mother who travels 50 miles every night

just to be beaten down by a husband who

choose not to care.
Or like some jealous lover I could spawn to the

judgment of others.
I could be a good writer.

But I'm not.
I'm just not.