How do you always write in such
creative metaphor?
It seems the craft shows an
intricate, intoxicating, and invigorating mind
that creates art which stands the test of time.
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But I am stuck.
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Must my thoughts be behind a shield
written in code
veiled over
for the world to unknow?
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Is it too blunt to say I’m sad
or must I hide the emotion
behind blue hues of rain and nightfall?
My thoughts of death be
portrayed through winter landscape
and empty expansion?
My overwhelming needs turned into
visuals of flying too close to sunshine?
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Why can’t I scream from the rooftops
about my explicities
If nobody has an original thought
then how could these thoughts ever be too much?
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Would that muchness be a sore?
a pain?
an annoyance?
Or would my muchness simply not be enough for the
world’s desire of shadowed flamboyance?
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Are the hidden treasures amongst
my synapses earned of attempt
to find the real meaning of all the
malcontent?
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Can’t I simply sit sighing on a front stoop
pleading for help
as my mind disintegrates in front of you?
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Because to paint a clear picture
if my mind were to fall out…
it would splatter the pavement
not with a hum,
but with a shout!
-
A shout loud enough to erupt my small city
of the pains that are caused by my
lowlife simplicity.
…
My family is broken
My future is bleak
My heart beats unsteady
My brain fires wrong
My feelings are numb
My desires are frozen
My tears run free
My bones ache
My money is low
My belly is hungry
My eyes are sunken
My soul yearns
My hand is still
My thoughts are fading
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My basket is overflowing,
my cup can hold no more
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for these I have no metaphor big enough for.