The pen may hit the page
But for what gain?
Scribbles
Were they ever
Of worth?
The greatness
Is not in the state I’m found in
Kneeling
Without a place to call room
Or home
Something to call home
Just acreage to call roam
Or place to go, a bed to sleep
A ***** too distract like a chime
******* to sleep upon and lie to
Ears to
Tell sweet nothings to because my PATRIARCHICAL ****
May desire a sweet lie
And my spirit may desire a sweet lying to.