Inner Blues: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

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Tired, broken, some how falling, some how never stopping, never knowing, what was next.

How can I stay under this rock?

This thumb that has no print, talking to my self and saying why don’t you move?

Why don’t you shake away these inner blues, you call your personal hell?

I quietly adjust my own ears so that I don’t hear my self say you can do better.

Some must push on, some must stay happy with what they have, some don’t have to do anything and some must die trying.

That’s my must in life, to spend the long days ahead, making up for all the things I didn’t do. Even then I’ll find my self, talking about these inner blues.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
©2/8/’05

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