Regressing.

I’m the girl who does not care
If I’m gaining weight or losing hair
If my husband has a damn affair
I simply wimply do not care.

My boss is aloof & my colleagues are mean
Stuff in my fridge are turning green.
Not a single shirt is clean
I’m not bothered. I don’t care.

My boyfriend tells me I’m a mess.
I’m the cause for my parents’ stress.
My friends all like me less & less.
It breaks my heart. But I don’t care.

I know squat about corporate law.
Cigarettes are rubbing my trachea raw.
I cook bad enough to inspire awe.
I know I should, but I STILL don’t care.

So I turned fifty last week
So I’m getting wrinkles on my cheek.
So strangers tell me I’m a freak.
Do I look like I fucking care?

And my writers block is here to stay.
So the one thing I had has gone away.
And my first poem in months reads like juvenile crap.
And it doesn’t rhyme, by the way.