Sometimes, my words end up lost in translation  
I feel as though I'm speaking
To a room full of bystanders
None of whom care what spills forth
From this cotton mouth

It's like there are two of me
One to speak the words
And another to think the thoughts
Neither are in communication
Neither know who the hell I am

Scatter-brained is a loose term
Loosely held together by patience
And carelessly painted grey mornings
My head collects the words
And the same head rejects the connotations

I can't open my lips for all this trembling
I've never been one to placate nerves
Or to weave brilliance out of inhibitions
I just ransack the audience's hopes
And sprinkle them with pessimistic hail

Some might believe I may be hamstrung
By a heel only Achilles might covet
And a frailty in how I read between the lines
If I fail to impress, will I just forget?
Or scar myself with phantoms of things unsaid?

Undoubtedly, there are places for people
Like me, of my ilk, of my stature
Not that I've ever stumbled into such a place
Or climbed the ladders that they set
In front of feet that prefer the ground