1.The words I speak don’t matter.
They simply fly in front of me
and in a mind will shatter.
The minds I touch don’t listen
they simply gauge which words will please
in keeping with their vision.
The eyes that see don’t witness
they seek flaws that’ll justify
their own lack of forgiveness.
Despite my follies made, I write and choose the trade.
2.When I escaped the womb
I struggled and in vain to reach
a diamond studded tomb.
When in my struggling fell,
I found creative means to make
the world around me hell.
Once hell became my home
all other pleasures people have
to me became unknown.
Perspective in me fades, I still pursue the trade.