Thursday Poem

The Thursday blues are in my shoes
And socks and bra and sweater.
So someone said a poem instead
Would make me feel much better.

But will the day go by this way?
Is rhyming therapeutic?
Or will each rhyme just pass some time?
Like solving cubes of Rubik?

So then I dote on what I wrote,
Examine punctuations.
And glancing up, cry that's enough
Of questioning sensations!

Is a question mark the kind of spark
I need to find my passion?
Discover pride that's lost inside,
That long went out of fashion?

No more questions, deep depressions,
And boredom as vocation.
To never mention banished tension,
I'll live with exclamation!