its really not much, except its almost everything.

this has become serious

this has become very serious

my mother

who usually is the model

of all things a single human being can achieve

or strive to achieve

highers her voice

almost knife like pitch level

calling for one of my sisters

and in the haste of the moment

fifth attempt at writing

a poem

I want to pull out het throat

this has become serious

this is not

a hobby

this is not

a past time

this is not

a part of me

it is dominant

it is

massive

it is sadist

and its too serious

its too

everywhere

so I never write anymore

or when I do

I just repeat

for the sake

of not losing

this is

too serious

but I AM

a writer now

and its terrifying

and I cant stop my self

from constantly pausing

and looking at books

and my own lancing words staring back at me

and really wondering

where is the appeal

what is the purpose

and I'v come up with various reasons

being inspirational

being remembered

helping others

being able to communicate

and I come out of this loop

of insufficient thoughts 

with always the same

every reason

too weak

or too vain

and the love slowly wethers 

and am only left

with fear

is this too serious?

fear seems to be my only drive

most times.