As much as this is a gift,
It is a curse all the same.
Speaking in the tongue of thought,
I seem to think it all,
And I want to speak it all.

Although I wish each time a star passes by,
I still lay silent.
Stolen from my chance to speak,
Is there a way to say this where it'll be heard,
All of it, not just the gems.

Writing doesn't pay,
My father wished for a son who could write anyways.
So I see that's what he got,
Though I think he wanted movie scripts and monologues,
Not random rhymes and songs.
Alas, even when you wish,
You never get quiet what you wished for.