I Am Not A Good Writer Still I Like To Write My Thoughts

I wrote you a letter
But it got lost in the weather
It wasn't very clever
In retrospect

I seldom hear never
But I suppose whether
It's the norm, you've never
Been subjected

To all the things, that people often are
Eyes full of dreams, that pour out when you're at the bar

Sloppy kisses, feeling weak
Too many times, tongue in cheek
Brave only when it looked so bleak
You could wreck it all and happily leave

So sleek, so coy
You've got a purr to your voice
Too bad it's not going to poise
You for being much more, than a doormat

A welcome mat, nonetheless,
Quite the host, seldom the guest
Seeking leverage, over the mess
Drowning you, called life

You work your fingers to the bone
Work has always been your home
Your haven you visit, when you're alone
But happy, and maybe a little stoned

I hope it all works out for you,
I hope all our dreams come true
I hope despite the truths
That appear apparent

I wish happiness was every day
And that all this mess
Would wash itself away
But life never seems to be that way

So I wrote a little poem
Just for sentiment
Hoping one day to have a home
And not just a place to rent

A lazy writer, I suppose
I still have a long way to go
The road is long, all alone
As my thoughts drive me mad

My head chews itself apart
With the same thoughts from the start
To the end of every day
But my heart still beats, so I'm okay.