The trade





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.