Twenty days locked up,
with nothing to do.
Twenty days locked up,
and I’m getting really sick of you.
I can’t be dropping names,
because I’ll get a lot of flack.
lets just say he’s a freakin little gremlin,
who’s eating all the food and getting fat.
I’ve gotten sick of painting,
and Zumba became a chore.
I’m tired of watching tv,
the Kardashians have become a bore.
Baking is always fun,
but I hate cleaning all the mess.
Snacking has become my favourite past time,
but now my summer body is a winter bod at best.
I keep asking for a puppy,
but Gremlin keeps saying no.
I don’t care I’m going to get one anyways,
an Italian Greyhound named Gelato.
This is my Quarantine Journal,
my book of Pandemic Poems.
I promise to keep it up so when this is all over,
I’ll have something to show ’em!
Creatively Uncreative 