Can I befriend you hope?
When my world is shattered
And my prayers is not much saving
When pessimism is the only way
Though I  confide in the ways of God

Can I befriend you hope?
When Nanny got me saying
You harvest what you planted
I'm thinking the plantation of happiness
I should have landed

Can I befriend you hope?
When all my thoughts assembled in one
One of giving up the rest of the sum
Coming up with a soothing serum
Looking at the mirror like a reckless ***

Can I befriend you hope?
Just in case my faith elope
Pulling inside like a jump rope
Inhibiting a familiar feeling
Or when I need something to hold on to.

Theres a place where I go,
its harmony and bliss and worries roam like clouds over someone elses head,
my footsteps are smaller, I'm lighter and happiness is here.
This place is a secret garden, there are others here too.
They are not my friends, yet there is comfort in their vacant stares.
They are floating too, high on forgetfulness.
Masking some other unfortunate reality that we can not escape.
Once the gate locks its difficult to remember why its so bad here.
Why my "happy" place is darkened by recreational neglect and uncomfortably bright sounds.
Reality is just an echo in my heart.
My want to go home fights my urge to stay and it rips through me. It always wins.
Theres a trick that the magician hasnt shown me yet.
I want to go home, but here I forget.

What I ink to my page is not poetry,
There is not rhythm or rhyme, nor reason.
The empire state is no structure to my art.


What stains my page is not creativity,
Squiggles and lines leave marks from my mind.
The blank canvas does not lead to my masterpiece.


Words are my patchwork quilt,
Adjectives and nouns thread together my memoirs.
There's no glamour in my prose.


What I ink to my page is not poetry,
nor is it my intellect or wisdom.
What I ink to my page is life.