Unlike so many false prophets
who sell false promises
of false happiness
that we devote our real lives in search of,
my words are clumsy and uninspired.
As I attempt to shout something beautiful or inspiring
my truth gets trapped
in incomplete thoughts,
in tangled phrases,
in broken metaphors.

Any truly great ideas I have
never see the light of day,
obscured by faulty execution.
As I see so many personable charlatans
talk of quick fixes and easy paths to enlightenment
I berate myself for my inabilities
like a baby screams simply because it has nothing else it can do.

And after every clumsy failure at getting my point across
with every missed expression,
I hang my head.
Not in shame.
Not this time.
But so I can see my pages better.
I am compelled to try and tell my story,
in spite of all of my shortcomings because
even if I can never accurately translate the thoughts in my head
to something inspiring and accessible
I am compelled to try.
In the end, I'd rather produce an ugly truth
than a beautiful lie.