Often I am silent, but only so I can hear whats missing,
I defer to silence only to catch the rhythm of the beat within my heart,
born blessed with smarts but yet, in the same token, cursed, with no motivation to embark,
so while my procrastination commissions the dark,
my potential resembles a motor assembled, with no ignition to start,
audibly, my inspirations petition for light,
yet fears that my voice will be imprisoned for life surface as my mind serves as platform for this fight.

Often I am blind.
I refuse sight today and instead fill oblivion with the wonders of tomorrow.
My eyes gaze upon  the canvas of the present but deflect any image of it.  
It has been marred by the brush stroke of unpleasant realities.
Much like scars on flesh it is flawed, it is damaged, it is crooked.
My eyes find shelter from these imperfections in the promise of tomorrow.
Tomorrow can not be governed by the natural laws of the present.
Tomorrow is defined not by reality, but only by the eyes transfixed upon it.
It is pure, it is indefectable, it is perfect.
That is why it can not exist.
Often I am blind.