Can anyone tell me
Where I'm supposed to be going?
Even the humble plants on the ground
Grow without knowing
I've enjoyed this journey, ups and downs and all
And I still don't know how to fight through life's fog
And the more I try to find answers the deeper I go into the smog
Can you tell me where I'm supposed to be going and what I need to be doing? Because I'm tired of being a nomad with no cause

Why do the words find my pen so appealing and my mouth the opposite?

Why can my Writings express my feelings and my speech barely even scratch the surface?

Where can I find a happy medium between my pen and my mouth
Because it's really killing me to have all these thoughts swirling around in my brain, and not being sure about how they'll come out

Sometimes one moves faster than the other
And it's annoying, not funny like undercover brother

So if anyone knows how, please tell me what am I to do?
Because my head is wired more chaotically than the San Diego zoo

Your words were like this velvet glove
Silky and sultry, heavy on lust with subtle hints of something like love
The kind of hypnotism that could only have come from the stars above
Your voice was an aphrodisiac that couldn't be stopped, because the more I heard you speak with those trouble colored lips I felt like I smoked a spliff with some really good crop

My mind told me no, but my body couldn't bear for you to stop
So sensual, so seductive yet reserved at the same time
Like this velvet glove, you were aesthetically pleasing yet internally teasing at the same time

Why do the words find my pen so appealing and my mouth the opposite?

Why can my Writings express my feelings and my speech barely even scratch the surface?

Where can I find a happy medium between my pen and my mouth
Because it's really killing me to have all these thoughts swirling around in my brain, and not being sure about how they'll come out

Sometimes one moves faster than the other
And it's annoying, not funny like undercover brother

So if anyone knows how, please tell me what am I to do?
Because my head is wired more chaotically than the San Diego zoo

A tear fell down
As these words appeared on this page
And though I don't have the wisdom of a sage
The clock moving forward doesn't do much to wounds but allow scars to grow, some develop invisibly whilst others are more likely to show
This I know because you see the scarred heavily out in the streets.
Seeing horrors unimaginable, and never truly recovering,
Expected to return back into our cruel society without any time to digest what they witnessed and go on in silent suffering.

Time's Scars never really do heal, the skin never sutures totally and the blood does fall out of us constantly...
But you can be the antiseptic on this infection...and rediscover empathy

They've got it made
For the winners in this world
The less fortunate souls
Have to play the role
of the tragedy known as Deacon Blues
and yes I know that's a reference to a song
But like the Crimson tide, this poem shall roll on
The haves truly have, and the knots are tired by the Chains of lack and want
But you might say "if you want to be better than work harder. "
"Why are you so irresponsible with your money ,how will you feed your daughter?"

I don't even have kids and I know the feeling of desperation all too well
It's like burning constantly reheated hell
Why? Why? Why do I reek of failures distinct smell?
I'm a good person, or at least I try to be
But.
.

..

Why am I fated to lose?