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 gentlest 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.
(Dorothy Parker)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, World Poems, Night Poems, Light Poems, Mind Poems, Soul Poems, Dreams Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Hell Poems, Jokes & Humor PoemsBased on Keywords: grumble, gentlest, arrested, cavil, tripe, recurrent, querulous, grouse, quondam, disillusioned, snoot