When do you find the urge to write?
Often I am asked
after someone has given a poem or two a pass.
When I need to I reply,
which isn't far from the truth and isn't a lie.

So why now?  
Why continue utterances to crowds of one hundred and ninety six
and feel ashamed when my heart speaks before my filter hits.
I guess it goes back to my urge to write
To let it all out.
I can't bare these feelings alone so I put them out to scouts.
Hoping that someone can see
That I am not the representation of insanity
That I know you want me all to be.

I am afraid.
Like a child in many ways.
I don't enjoy not knowing what's ahead
Which is why I have found myself closer to dead.

I reach too far and I assume
Rain sleet or shine,
Doesn't matter
I won't see flowers bloom.
And this is the persistent gloom.
That weighs on a soul like a scary cartoon.

I had a lot I could have turned out all right.
****, look at my past: one thing I know is fight.
But every battle takes its toll
And exponentially it seems i'm missing the bowl.

Ironically now I am level headed
Clean shaven
Warm
But by no means in heaven.

Perhaps for people like me
Who won't accept mediocrity
There are but few retreats
And hello poetry is a good one for me.