My heart's distressed,
Emotions vexed,
Images can't escape.
I'm perplexed,
My text is hexed,
I can't explain
What I feel.

My hands are dyslexic,
I'm swirled in the vortex
Of unwritten lines to read.
The words are trapped,
My message is clapped
In perceptions
That can't be freed.

I try to release them,
Catch and cage them,
And arrange with diversity;
Then in a while,
And using guile,
I'll fashion
Some fine poetry.
(Such is the state
Of me).

I've heard the quip,
I've been advised:
Just write how you feel.
For me,
That's blathering,
Bothersome nattering,
Void of poetic appeal.

I need a someone,
Like an Anne Sullivan,
To teach me how
To feel;
Not with sentience,
But rather with senses,
Alive,
And writhing in me.