I fear, my writing is in danger.
The danger of exclusivity.
I don't mean to write only of love;
I long to express
my feelings of joy when I purchase a new pair of shoes,
my feelings of sadness when my pet bunny died,
or even the sheer hilarity of posting poems on the internet.
I don't mean to limit myself
to the topic of infatuation.
I'd love to write in regard
to the time my computer was attacked by a virus,
or about my favorite kind of cheese.
But he makes it too easy.
I could write about love forever.
Eila Mahima Jaipaul
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-failed-poet/
