Walk a mile

A tirade of inaccuracy

I stood in the office,
feet squared against carpet
an uninspired shade of grey,
and ranted.

I poured passion into my delivery
with the same enthusiasm that
people pour maple syrup onto pancakes
(with none of the sweetness).

As the last words fell out of my mouth,
in a tumble of heated frustration,
I realised that all along the problem
was me.


Free verse. Written 31 August 2017.