Thinking on, about my plight,
about whether or not I’m still able to write.
Is it the skills I lack? Or just insight?
Or is my verse just really that shite?
I really need to give it more thought,
maybe give myself a score, and no, not nought.
give myself some credit for the rhymes I’ve sought,
and the knowledge that it’s free, from me, and not bought.
Maybe I need to be less self-effacing,
just accept and enjoy that my mind is still racing,
write with the flow, with no need for erasing
these original thoughts (well I’m not fecking tracing)
Just carry on writing, put words on the page,
write about feelings and reaching this age,
write about life and escaping my cage
like a whinging ‘Old Git’, or a wise old sage.