Some People Will Do Anything (to get out of doing what they love)

It seems that when I get busy it's the things I love that I neglect.
I avoid reading poetry. I don't play piano. I don't sing.
I ignore the new novel on the shelf that I've been meaning to read for months.
And every day the sun rises and sets without my taking notice.

I keep doing things that I hate.
I keep taking out the trash
I wash the dishes
I scoop the poop out of the litter box
I do laundry
I clean my house
I spend all of my time taking care of other people
solving other people's problems,
meeting other people's needs,
(people who mean nothing to me
and who can do nothing for me),
and at night
I lie down wondering why
I am always able to find time to do the things that aren't important to me
but can't find the time
to write a poem.

I have to do the things I hate. That's why I find time to do them.
I don't have to write a poem,
do I?

There are so many other things more important than writing this poem,
But instead I am writing because
somehow I can't help it.

I still have a voice
I think
I still have something inside of me that wants to speak
And I am trying
again
to find it.