Poetry is food for the mind

At our youngest ages

We yearn for attention

We long for satisfaction

And hope for fulfillment

Crying out when we feel a hole in our stomach

Like an overflowing gut

We search for a way in which we can put this to an end

 

Although, you are mistake if you think

I speak of actual food

 

You see, we frail people

Are trapped in a vicious blender

Of covering up what we feel or need to say

Until the peel reveals what’s truly inside

Keep this up and you blow (to) chunks

 

Poetry about confrontation

May seem to you, ironic

As it seems I tiptoe on the brink of righteousness

Staring immorality in her face

Oh what’s she able to tempt me with

I don’t even like fruit

 

I write to be able to ponder about whatever topic I choose

Without my arrogant mind rotting on what I cloud myself with

 

“Just tell me what you feel”

Such easy words to speak

Instead we stuff our mouths with lies

To protect ourselves

 

One spoonful after another

What’s next?

Who orders a serving of deceit?

With a side of vengeance?

These emotions so easy to get rid of

Taught to express ourselves through words

Using a pencil or our teeth

Both sharp and easy to lie

Until we do so much, they start to dull

 

Who said I wanted to get rid of them away Anyways?

Stop shoving words in people’s mouths

 

You'll never know what they spit out.