My brain will be the death of me,
I realised late one night,
everything that goes on inside leads to my own fight.

It makes me want to explode,
I wish I didn't over think,
I'm forever getting pushed to my absolute brink.

Some times I want to silence it,
no kind words will make this stop,
I often feel as though my skull is just about to pop.

The problems will still flow,
But life continues to progress,
but one day I will discover how to banish all this stress.

I write about you,
I wonder if you've guessed.

My pen hits paper,
and my fingers tap the keys,
each time revealing,
a small portion of me.

My life and my troubles,
all on one page.

The feelings you give,
it's here I reflect,
on all of the worries I have,
a way in which I can recollect.

these aren't just words,
they are scribbles of me.

dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

sometimes
i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
back
up

Cardboard doubles
as shredded sheets
"Spare a little change,
trying to make ends meet
Just seeking refuge
from the cold and sleet"

Well, the Savior didn't have a place
to lay His head
So maybe they're closer to Him
than I am

But people see the signs
All they do is stare
Wonder, what's he done
and where's she been?
I couldn't cast the stone
cuz my record ain't clean

No one gave me
the judgement rod
And you, sir, don't look like God
Driving by
rolling up your windows and
down your nose
"Probably for drugs,"
your judgments say
"Lazy *** will
squander it away"

As if you and I
never fail, please don't forget
we've just been given
a better circumstance,
missed some unfortunate
happenstance
Do you squander love?
Waste your privilege?

We're all the same
Skin bones and blood
And I know I'm
begging for change
on the streets of human love
Forgetting I've been given grace
from the Divine
Covered by love that looks like
water blood and wine

Maybe my friend
the "homeless ***"
is really a bit closer
to the One

Sixteen lines of mediocre prose,
arranged neatly, into four stanzas,
simply because that is the way they are,
not for any purpose.

But here, see how he struggles!
To fit these messages, semi-coherent,
into his own restricting rhythm,
the format of the green-horned fool.

But, once again, he mimics himself;
on purpose, he thinks, to be clever,
but nothing positive is written.
Perhaps I'm just a hypocrite.

It is man's greatest enemy, who'd criticize him before any other,
where others saw no fault; who'd raise a hand to him, take his life, only
when he felt lower than ever; and his greatest ally,
who'd pick him up to carry onward, where all others
would surely fail.