My poetry reveals who I am,
Time and time again,
The world has tried to figure me out,
To understand what I’m about;
But they all fall short.
It’s sad to report, but it’s true!
No one has a clue as to who I am.
Through the words I’ve laid on the page,
You see that the world is my stage.
We are all actors playing a part,
Hard to set apart,
It’s a tragedy, but my reality,
Which is the poetry from which I speak,
Each syllable moving in a rhythmic flow,
As I reveal my soul,
Though broken and weak;
Can still inspire generations,
Through complications I’ve seen the light,
Bright and Blinding,
Unwinding and unraveling my composure,
As piece by piece,
My world falls to my feet;
Becomes incomplete,
As the mask that hid my pain, once again,
Shatters, and clatters as it leaves my face,
Bare and alone, so scared and so cold;
Nothing left but raw flesh.
Scarred and bruised, flawed and abused,
What’s left to lose?
The ups and downs,
The times when silence was the loudest sound;
Plagued with this gift of rhyme,
And dissipated with the hands of time;
Longing for the sound, that spills out of my mouth,
To reach an ear, of someone who will listen and hear,
I feel bare, as I’m baring my soul,
With all the stories untold;
That’s the message I share.