my words are not ready
like puzzle pieces connecting
childhood fears in my grown up years
allowing eyes to hear my hidden tears
all my ideas I've seen disappear,
results of my short term memory failing me...
clutter in my mental debris, honestly,
pulling on my goatee thinking till it hurts me
I’ve seen better days,
haunted by unknown tomorrows,
the insecure urban bravado, I am Apollo,
I have no Muse but have created a truce
with despair and imagery, this is my trinity
Willingly, I write in my lyrical infinity
And though it marks me, labeled at best,
I am still on my quest, for I am only a guest
In time…