And the stalk is rooted to my head
I think back on those four walls housing
A desk a drawer and a bed
Of which the head board was scribbled with
Half written thoughts where before I slept
jargon and truth were jumbled till tilled to
Future poems you've never read
The desk hid pages upon pages
Of fantasies of whimsies had
On rainy days when my mind played
Games of pretending the poets that
So long ago lived now lived in me
And through my ink they writ their words
Hopkins, petrach and a splice of Dante
To calm my nerves when I felt sad
But in the top left shelf of the drawer
Were put pages still unwritten by
A mind so active it kept forgetting
Poems sang quick but not memorized
And a heart that was too scared of the page
For what if when turned in it turned out bad
And as I lay here in another country
At 8.am and still awake
From the night before I can't help but think
How foolish I was to think a chore
A task which would have made me only
Occupy my time with tiring work
That was worthwhile and actually worthy
Instead of watching cartoon porn.
Reaching inside my heart I can see
Everything I wish to say but can't speak
Go away dear reader for I can't bear
Responding to your looks or to feel
Even shreds of some sympathy
Try understand and if you can't read the first letters of this verse then you will see
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