Five years old
I could not speak
My tongue, glued to
the roof of my mouth
And my cupid's bow lips
quivering with unfounded fear
A feeling that I could not
connect – could not fit
the mold that had already
set.
I moved through the years
A sprite of quiet pretenses
Both shielding myself and
unknown to myself
A feeling that I was
Too real, too present
outside of myself
Even when the years wore on
This selfsame sensation
transported itself too
What I wanted to say
and what I said were divided
I tremble and I stutter and I
still can't fit the mold.
Only a liquid cure can ever
ease the pangs, but I won't rely
on that.
Instead, I tell myself
It's better this way.
I am an enigma to be discovered
If you will only try.
Slowly, I think I am knowing myself.
A quiet exterior but inwardly
A loud booming that will sound forever.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
In youth
It came as a flood
Almost senseless with
the rush of expression
Pouring from my hand;
It could not keep pace with
the ceaseless deluge from my mind
Half-formed coherency
No thought paid to the rules of
Grammar, Spelling, Paragraphs
Just a wrenching of the soul
that demanded ink.
Years later, studies of
Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Tennyson
A mind full of words that
are not my own, I am
Senseless with the inability
to break this learned dam. Now
nothing comes out right.
My mind, it burns
and burns and burns
But nothing ever takes aflame.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC