Replicated
Never duplicated
Leaning forward
Tumbling
Twelve steps backwards
Backhand blues
Struck me again
Omitting me
From me
Etched in
Braille yet
Somehow I understand
My own language
The crowded streets
Forged in my head
I wish I could unplug them
Yet they are the reason
I create with such flawlessness
Shivers in the
Tiniest crevasses
I’ve come to grips
With my psyche
And the abilities to express
Myself differently
The plethora of ideas
That run at mach speed
Fire on all cylinders
I just try my
Best too keep them all at bay
Yet it can’t seem too
And create something anew
Stuck in a daze
My happiest place
The juices never stop flowing
Like a finger
Pulling the pin from
A hand grenade explosion
Writing seems to be
My only true coping mechanism
In every situation
It all feels so relatable
Despite the hectic frustrations
That run me over at times
You will never see another me
I’m far from imitation
It’s only me trying to find
My true meaning in life
Yet maybe I already have