I could write another poem, but why –
When I can’t think of too much more to say?
I point out facts, which you simply deny.
I start to write a poem, anyway -
Although I’m not sure who will want to read
My words. I have not put my pen down yet.
I don’t know if I should stop or proceed.
I want to talk about the "safety net"
That wasn’t there to catch me when I fell –
A so-called "care" system where no-one cares –
"Religious" types who’ve threatened me with "Hell" –
A generation of Karens and Claires,
Now in big houses with their One Point Two
Kids. I won’t get mine, and I feel cheated.
That might sound bitter, but I guess it’s true.
From the start, I could not have competed.
Does it need to be a competition?
Apparently it does. I’m not convinced.
Sick of my own themes – such repetition.
I had my chances, too? Still not convinced.