Mediocre poem: This Isn't My Closet

I tried and to get to you another short story, but I'm on page three and still writting. It may not make it to my blog. So, I've put together a mediocre poem for you all. It's a poem about secrets that I knkow about my ex that she still won't fess up to. Not that it's terribly important now, but they were secrets known to me while we were sill married. But don't misunderstand me. I wasn't the model husband. My biggest downfall is that I was worse than an infidel. I didn't provide for my family. Guess that means I didn't really love my wife and kids. However, I've learned from my errors and am proud to say that I do indeed love my children.

Now that I'm done running at the mouth (fingers, anyway), on with the poem. Be on the look out for photographs and drawings by your's truly. Please excuse any spelling errors.


This isn’t my closet,
But I know all about it.
It belongs to someone else,
But I have possession of it.
And I don’t really want it.

That’s mine.
The one at the end of the hall there.
I’ve been working on it.
Tryin’ to clean it out.
But this one…

The owner doesn’t even claim responsibility.
“It’s not mine.” She always says,
Though her skeletons are clearly labeled.
So I’m forced to remember.
And she pretends to forget.

All I care enough to do
Is clean mine and keep it clean.
Maybe she’ll clean out hers someday.
Hopefully, anyway.
It’s her responsibility after all.

I suppose I wouldn’t be so aggravated,
If I’d just keep the door closed. ®

Nov. 3, 2004 (Completed @ work)