writing all my problems on paper
thinking they'll solve themselves

I realize. I can only write quality when sad or angry. Frustrating, forever thus breaking the flow and only I know when the time will be to open up again and free all the thinking, shrinking, sinking and slipping thoughts up here behind closed eyes-
slowly eating away behind caged ribs .

Everyday new problems made, new orange cones and red lights parade the streets of needle and thread. The sun goes down at night and I dream of solving the problem-
the bargain continues to darken at every strike across the face that is the problem that I have made-
and make them I do everyday.
For myself to hide, runaway. Climbing up a mountain of faith only to carry the feeling and throw the thought off the edge,
like waste.

Engage, listen, explain. I do, I try, I will and I might even add something new if I feel like it. Just to climb to point 5 once again soon point 6, 7, 8 and I don’t think I've ever looked back. In time it fades to black.

Eating away.

I started this because
No one else would
And I told anyone who asked
That if they wanted to be in charge they could.

I took charge because
It was the right thing to do
But if you wanted to do it
I would’ve let you.

I'm not in charge of directing
Or picking out the cast
And if you wanted me to have less power
Then you could have just asked.

I'm only gathering names.
And making sure we’ve got a script.
I'm not judging the talent
That's someone else’s pick.

You could have spoken to me
Instead of some random prefect
Words hidden behind your hands
Like I'm some ***** secret.

Would you rather it was a mess
Of crumbled papers on the floor
With sean yelling st us
And Ms carvill wanting more.

Would you rather we did nothing
Had no play at all?
But would you stand that judgement?
Would you take the fall?

What is it you actually want?
I hope I find out later
Cause I'll put it in the play for you
Signed-
   Your loyal dictator.