Sometimes writing a poem is like doing a math problem 

Trains and distance and time

How long? 

Aaahh!! Too long, I can’t figure it out and I start sobbin’

Some words just don’t rhyme 

And I have no train of thought 

My ideas don’t sound good on paper like they ought 

My brain fizzles out, loses steam 

There’s no right answer to the equation, it seems 

My high school math teacher always said I was a fighter 

But I wanted to be a writer 

A novelist, not a terrorist 

But words, like numbers – in my head, often go amiss 

So I type up these poems 

Never knowing where they’re goin’

But I hope they unlock somethin’ 

For someone, if not myself

To be a writer is to write 

To be a train passenger is to take a ride 

How long, what for, where to 

All things you decide