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Hard to tell

It's so hard to tell what people want these days,
sometimes you get it all wrong
and a life is ruined by a mistake.
It's even harder to tell what I want, really.
when I come to think of it.

There are the obvious things, yes:
a big house, threesomes and lots of chocolate,
fluffy kittens and enough money to buy fidelity.
And don't forget a sure way to kill those you hate
without being caught.

But, no, wheh I look at my garden
and see the bird sitting on the branches
minding their own business, I think:
Wouldn't it be easier to just hang myself
but probably not as much fun.

Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


for living comes with age. Not a passion for money or the things that it can buy. What people want, is fidelity without recompense; feeling secure in the knowledge that people like you for who you are, not what they can get from you. As for hanging oneself... I am sure that it is not much fun. I am constantly re-inventing myself; taking my psyche apart and putting it back together in ways that I can live with. That is my goal, being able to live with who and what I am. I want to be the person that my mother would want to know, if she met me for the first time today. I never show my mother, my Killer works. I know the arguments I would give for him, but she wouldn't understand. ~ Geez.

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to me there's several very strong ideas. each stanza feels too disconnected to the idea posed in the title and first line.
The last stanza has a great finish...and could be simply this, a poem in itself: ( a few minor changes)

When I look at my garden
and see a bird sitting on a branch
minding its own business, I think:
Wouldn't it be easier to just hang myself
but not as much fun.

That's both very funny to me, with a lot of expansive thrust. It sticks with you. Very Robert Creely.


I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Hello Edna, lots of sad ideas in your prose poem. It's powerful writing and you do it so well. Eumo has already suggested some changes. I agree with him, he's always so helpful.
The imagery is fine and so is the title. I got upset about the "hanging" part. No other nits, best, Gracy

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury the joke.

Poet(ess) to the Stars

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The second stanza can see straight into my soul. Am I THAT basic?
While I can't make a clear connection between the stanzas, I do think there is something to be said (something you've said) about how we can want such good things and at the same time we can just want to die.


...a joke, really.

Poet(ess) to the Stars

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