Even my poems
do not speak eloquence
or a personal soliloquy--
my words lack the lush
and brazen must
that all else seem to speak.

To hold a pearl
is something to behold
a precious mistake
bore into beauty.

I speak muzzled
ideas that are simply
monologues; meant
to only hinge
ideas together.

They do not
let you understand me,
but give a soft or bleak
ensemble of demenor
of someone I've been trying to find.

And there began our oral history.
Removed from text, living and breathing.
Passed back and forth between lips.
I myself a promise, her oath.
The anxious lump that hesitates in the back of the throat.
The inner most of courage exchanged in deep sigh.
Finding it impossible to hold on to my own words.
I hold on to hers, and it is within this freedom am I truly free.
Without confines to anything, other than ourself.
That we find influence from events current and past. 
Well dressed in each others lips.
We both fold the page.
In exception to our next breath

I swallow my words,  but I'm allergic and it's all I can do not to ***** them back up.

WHY HAS PRESIDENT TRUMP
GIVEN ME SO MUCH MATERIAL
THE POEMS I CAN COMPOSE
BECOME REALLY VERY SATIRICAL



THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES
SHOULD HAVE CLASS STYLE AND POISE
NOT CONTINUALLY TWEETING OUT LOUD
AND PRODUCING A LOT OF HOT NOISE



A LEADER TODAY SHOULD LEAD
WITH DIGNITY STRENGTH AND CLASS
NOT TALKING AND YELLING
AND SPEAKING OUT OF HIS ***

I want to be your friend
but I'm too timid to speak out now
I rather think I don't know how
To utter a word not penned.

And my spoken words are like feathers
Weightless and floating about in the air,
They carry expression and meaning and care,
But they sink to the earth silently.

my words are capped. Over
with.
half-started sentences.
they just get cut
into somebody else.
they just get -
- -body else.

and i want to ------

You are poetry spoken in tongues.**
I do not know how to understand you
I do not know if I'd like too
I'd love the sounds all the same;
regardless if
the meaning escapes me.