The obsessive compulsive Poet and Artist

I ought to be working more.
I ought to be writing this morning, this afternoon, this evening.
I ought to be wringing those fingers that use a pen, a typewriter, a keyboard, an ipad?
I out this.
I ought to be out at each event 7 days per week.
I ought to be describing every speck of dust particle that reaches the human eye
I ought to perceive each flick or microscopic mite that lives on each eyelid.
I ought to be prepared for the human race to converge into myth.
I ought to be noticing the tongue ready to engage in an oral storytelling truth.
I ought to cut these finger nails more eloquently.
I ought to piece together the words, the paint blobs, the mediums more playfully.
I ought to give you a piece of credit for the idea you gave me, not the one that I stole.
I ought to know better.
I ought to be making money for a living.
I ought to have more recognition.
I ought not to know what I am doing.
I ought not to be ought witting myself.
I got out.
I ought to go out of this room I’m in for 36 hours staring at a screen
I ought to have better strategy with my words,
I ought yes.
I ought no, these letters are confusing.
I ought to have a friend.
I ought to have less friends.
I ought to scribble more.
I ought to gesticulate with less anxiety.
I ought this into prose.
I out this again.
I ought to read more.
I ought to have read you by now.
I ought to never get tired.
I ought to want to be another dead poet.
I ought to throw myself off a building in a dream then write about it as if it was real.
I ought to give thanks.
I ought to be me.
I out me.
I o u g h t …
I ought to love what I am doing.
I ought to play
I ought to listen to the silence.
I ought to laugh more.
I ought to love this life.
I ought to be free.
I ought to get paid.
I ought to have won that award.
I ought to get published.
I ought to know the alphabet to at least 10 languages.
I ought to have more time.
I ought to release myself.
I ought to dance.
I oughtta get out of the city.
I ought to return here tomorrow.


2 thoughts on “The obsessive compulsive Poet and Artist

    1. Oh, really? That’s funny. I was just playing with contradicting statements and sentiments.
      It really didn’t feel like work, when I did it. That’s for sure. ; ) Thank you Nick!


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