not enough

The lunatic walked in the room
she crossed the floor
surveyed the scene
scanned their brains
she wanted more
she left the room
she slammed the door


(This is the earliest poem I remember writing. I think it is funny that I called it 'not enough' as it certainly isn't enough on many levels - mainly not good enough - but it is emblazoned in my brain over all these years as it obviously meant something at a formative part of my life. It was an angry poem and stood for wanting more as we all should in our teenage years. I am happier with my lot more often now but still assess what there is for me in any situation very quickly. I have learnt that it is not always about me. I still always tend to write less words than more.)

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