No clever lyric

To be semantic smug,
To stain each fibrous white sheet with black pigment,
To say that is screamed to me from the tattered scared heart,
Which beats within me,
To release it from its imprisonment within me,
Sounding hollow and rehearsed,
But in truth,
There is no clever lyric,
No smartly crafted line,
Or plagiarised paragraph,
To fix what I have with my own hand, broken,
My internal critic wants flourish and skill,
Clever wording and precisely placed punctuations,
For I write from the centre of my being,
Where I hide away my genius for fear of ridicule,
Writing beyond my believed class set,
Trying to sound educated in my illiterate life,
From stoves, mighty cook books grow,
Not neatly coutured lines,
In depth an feeling,
The heart of a poet,
Wrapped up in a high school drop out,
No grasp of complicated wording,
From this glorified servant to the hungry masses, But just like the caterpillar,
In this cocoon I have transformed,
From who you knew,
To who I may become,
To be whom I wish to be,
Not whom I was made to be,
To find my way to warm the soul of those who pass,
Not the shiver of the long dead,
Walking over you awaiting grave,
For too long I have been a Neanderthal,
Clubbing my way through this fight that has become my life,
To be the artist I wish to be,
To be remembered more for what I write,
Not the tonnage that I drank,
And remained a functioning alcoholic, To tell my stories not for you sympathy’s,
But for your entertainment,
Melancholia my stock in trade,
To give you depth of my suffering,
Substance to fill the spaces,
Between my crafted words,
And clever lines,
To entertain you with my horrors,
That call to me in the blackest parts of the night,
To whisper to me from their perches on my hunched shoulders,
None can truly know another’s mind,
As I open mine to you,
An show you what plays across the silvered screen of my mind,
Literate subtitles to describe my fall from your grace,
Pronunciative to my best ability,
Just to show you,
My grasp of mother tongue,
To just show,
My path back to me,
Laying ghosts as I pass them by,
Its just a little thing,
What I wrote.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s