I've never had a way with words
though my thoughts run rampantly
Opposed to a herd or flock
running in every which way
instead of the same like a clock
But I've never been able
to pin them down
I write and frown as the words
Dont seem to say
What i want
Or i peel my eyes and wait
For the time my pencil wakes
And writes its own mind
Because mine has obviously forgotten
How to write out a simple plot and
Even as i look back on this
I see my words
have missed
a lot
My thoughts remain inside my head
Searching for a common thread
A path to that small bit of lead
In my hand, still,
waiting for something to break out

Words are so much more than a single definition
We all see the world in different ways,
just as we all use a different set of words to describe it

an argot is not a disadvantage
an accent is not condemnation
and slang is not uneducated

Different interpretations do not implicate
all but one is correct
Different views of the world are good
Together we can see things in a way
no one ever has before

This is not the time for a single definition
This is a time for argots
for accents
for slang

This is a time for learning the world
has more than one definition
And the people in it mean so much more
than one thing

A slip means a knick
            means a straight line of red
A slip does not mean that I'd rather be dead
So don't
              slant
                       your eyes and give up on me
A slip means a new start
                        a new chance to be

life throws out woes
to catch if you can
Catch, why catch a woe?
because dropping it means
you can't handle the throw

Hope is a word echoing down the corridor
after a friend just out of hearing range

Beauty is an imperceivable imperfection
impossible to detect

Remembering is the bittersweet chocolate
you can’t help but eat again and again

Knowledge is the admission of your
minds’ omission of omniscience

Music is the ray of sun peeking out
after a day of gloom and grey

Society is a broken clock without
a horologist to fix the hidden gears

Metaphors are buckets
bailing out the sinking ship of life