I know not my worth
Just a bit of honesty. Poetry comes naturally to me, as do my novels. Only thing is I can type one on my phone, and I have no money to afford the computer for the other. I can't work. It's not an excuse. It simply is. And when I can write, it's because I'm gifted a keyboard and a net connection; stories and poetry flow from my heart.
I know not my worth;
I am worthless.
I live only for pleasure;
And nothing worth less.
I know not my goals,
For one who has none,
No purpose or privelege,
Only but fun.
I know not my sins;
I'm sure there are many;
And to all my kin,
A drink for a penny,
Of thought; enough
Or to raise up a cup;
Forgotten, besotten,
Yet still I wake up.