I really lack what to write
guess something isn't right
yet I hate it when I can't
more I can't,the more I want
I'm scratching my congested mind
where there's nothing concrete to find
I don't mind trying and trying
albeit frustrated I feel like crying
thus wondering when I became a freak
whom inadequate verbal emotion makes weak
for if there was a tree with leaves of creativity
I would own a forest with a thick canopy*
poetry fills the gaps that vacuum my heart
a tin where I keep sealed my dirt and hurt