I write these words
trapping thought in form and ink,
trying to convince myself
that I know what they mean.
I write them where you can see
though there's no guarantee,
deceiving myself to believing
that they- I - could matter to you.
A few bungled musings,
meandering through prose and poetry
fall out of my head by night
and expose my inner rambling.
For, beneath this calm facade,
so unperturbed my matters of the heart,
lies something burning and seething,
alone in cloying dark.
What I write are missives
send from adrift in an internal sea,
an attempt to escape the prison of self
to be free and fully seen.