M-M Poem by Elliott Gilbert

I sit to write but with little thought.
With little hopes of creating magic.
For you are not thee inspiration,
you are not my go to muse.
How am I supposed to do what is demanded?
That is what you are, a dictator.
Demanding a poem about you.
Thinking it will be a closer,
some sort of glue.
Demanding is all I hear from you:
get me a ring pop,
get me taco bell,
give me a ride home,
pick me up.
No.
Please just give me a break.
Show some manners and etiquette.
Say please and thanks.
Be grateful for what I do.
I stick around because I am crazy.
I hope to teach you,
so you do not act like a child,
do not act immature.
But it seems it is unachievable.
I try constantly to reform you,
to help you not think of just yourself.
For then maybe I would be able,
be able to have a relationship.
For I know it would be a headache.
I do love you bit it will not work.
I love you as a sister,
I will protect you if need be.
I can tell you are physically
growing older.
But please show me the emotional.
I want to come back,
and you be a mature girl.
For you cannot force me now,
to create inspiration out of thee air.
Grow a little more
and maybe the inspiration
will be there.