feminine, life, Love, poetry

By Myself

Late night sirens and cheap

microwave popcorns,

an empty Chardonnay

and mounting bills

Why am I always in

this myself?

My mind racing

am I counting worries

by sugar teaspoons?

Frantically cleaning the

cemented floor to rub

of the coffee stains.

Will I ever make it? Is

the question many are

asking but why I be the one?

I smile and sing rhymes

longing for some

praise, after-all it’s

not a crime. Fears and

worries linger but

there is hope but

hope is dangerous and

uncertainty too sneaky.

Shall I make the first move

but It might never work.

Let me smile and just

keep it to myself.

No I’m not an open book.

I will throw fake smiles

at your placid jokes offer

an icy kiss but I rather be

a mystery and be by myself.

11 thoughts on “By Myself”

    1. I know right? Mystery is cool anyways no one is interesting in knowing about us, so better be mysterious 😁

  1. If I am not myself, I wonder what I might be, and I ask, what is the shelf life of who I could be…
    Just a bit of rumble in the jungle Tanya….
    Your poem stirred my thoughts on what may be..😊

    1. Hi Ivor thanks for your like and great insight, agreed if we can’t be ourselves than what would we be, appreciate it.

    1. Hi Jackie indeed the beauty of being by ourselves… thanks for your like and comment, appreciate it.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.