Symptom Recital by Dorothy Parker

I do not like my state of mind;
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the simplest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I'd be arrested.
I am not sick. I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore:
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men.
I'm due to fall in love again.


Princess Haiku said...

This sounds about right and also sounds like the everyday human condition. Hope you are okay and feeling better than this. There's a lot to be said for being a dreamer.

moif said...

Wow. The new look is very nice!

Cyan said...

Thank you. I haven't been posting much, and I'm thinking that I need to rectify that. I thought a new "frock" might help.