Apr 21
The roads of my voice
Are uneven.
There are dips and
Unforseen turns.
Gorges and caverns,
Wells that sink
Deep into the earth.
Some syllables
Reach to the sky,
Align with the sway
Of the leaves.
I walk like a beggar
Trying to find
My way along the winds,
My throat raw
As I say the words that
mean something.
Are uneven.
There are dips and
Unforseen turns.
Gorges and caverns,
Wells that sink
Deep into the earth.
Some syllables
Reach to the sky,
Align with the sway
Of the leaves.
I walk like a beggar
Trying to find
My way along the winds,
My throat raw
As I say the words that
mean something.
It is too raw—
A tree with too many
Chips in its bark.
Too many rings inside,
Filled with unwanted
Insight, meant to be
Covered by the
Depth of a sapling.
You're not too passionate, too deep, too much.
Just say what you mean.
A tree with too many
Chips in its bark.
Too many rings inside,
Filled with unwanted
Insight, meant to be
Covered by the
Depth of a sapling.
You're not too passionate, too deep, too much.
Just say what you mean.
