Oh lordy babies I need me a job. The problem with gettin the bipolar disease, being on the disability pension for six(?) years and having about a year and a half work experience all up is that I don’t need to finish that sentence. I done wrote this poem after searching online for a job using the terms Creative and Writing because it is what I am good at (debatable). I got zero results. Here’s hoping kids.
Thumbs
I sit and wait
Cos my awkward gait
Steps on children, puppies
People’s dreams
I spill on myself
I’m not good at health
My hands are thumbs
Is what it seems
And I still wait for the day
That I can truly say
I did a good job
Successful schemes
But
If I gotta think
I got all, plus kitchen sink
And when it comes to good cheer
My smile’s always near
And if you wanna fight
I’ll punch keyboards all night
I’ll write me under the table
You bastard
Skydekkerix 