Little Things - Yukan Perumal

I struggle to write, struggle to sing,

stressing over the

little little things.

I’m walking and waltzing and spinning while thinking,

What am I supposed to write?

Spending the days, pen in hand,

When I get hot I

Turn on the fan.

But I’m still walking and waltzing and spinning while thinking,

What am I supposed to write?

What am I supposed to do

To make a poem that is true

With love?

I bring myself to realize

My writing may not tantalize

The angels I stare at above?

How do I start? How do I end?

Poetry is clearly not my friend.

I reach many dead ends.

Again and again.

It’s hard to describe beauty

Or when a feeling is without question.

It may sound too soppy

and over sentimental.

Is it worth it to bother

Over the little things?

Would it be easier to leave it

And dream?

Of all the sunsets I could see,

Of all the places I could be,

I stay in my house writing

Useless poetry.

Now I don’t write, I don’t sing,

Not stressing over the

little little things.

Because there are no more little little things.