I’m not like you. I’m not like them. I’m not like anybody I don’t fit in. I’ve never been on the inside crowd. Truth be told half of the time people don’t want me around. So I hide myself in poetry my notebook is the only one who actually knows me.
Does that make me a poet or a fraud. Are written words the only way I can tell you what’s going on? Cause my mind’s a mess I get lost in all the time. It’s a danger zone filled with land mines and sink holes. It’s a place you don’t want to go. Cause if you do you will never come out whole.
I’m broken in to many ways my mind is fragile and the stone is about to break. It’s partially being crushed to powder everyday. I’m sinking back into world war 3 and you know what I’m stairing at me my own worst enemy the poet the world will never see.