I have no
rhythm & rhyme,
can’t walk in time
to anything,
can’t speak my mind,
I’m hard to find,
my face is lined
with crooked vines
that tell
a story
without rhythm & rhyme.
Without structure or meter,
my thoughts peter out
halfway through
before you can catch them.
Internal rhyme,
external rhythm,
&
you can find
my soul along with them.
I try to lie
without getting caught
but I cannot pretend
to be something I’m not.
I can’t stay
in time,
in rhythm & rhyme,
in place
& in line
long enough.
& I apologize
for my transparent lies,
but hey,
at least I tried.