Process: This

i've had a lot of time to think

and some of those/these/them thoughts are fine

but to then, put those thoughts into meaningful words

whilst scrimping on neither vowels nor rhyme

to correctly articulate in a way i’d really like

to inform, to caution; to convey

as each line i write is a piece of me etched,

and until it’s all gone, i see no other way

i first ask you to taste this madness

there is a lot to be said for A-1 mental health

but in saying that some of the best conversations i have ever had

were the ones where i was talking to my self

we move now to the simple complexity of sadness

i can make you cry yes, but can i make you feel

i’m just as lost as everyone else here

i can make it seem so, but who knows what is real

ware the bite of my badness

for it is an integral thread in the pattern i weave

i teetered so in my many quests for balance

forever not knowing who or what to believe

and here i process my gladness

ignoring petty trivialisations and other slights aside

this is my literary sigh of relief

this is how i will see my next tide

i want my words to shine like the moon does upon the water

like shy eyes when they smile

like fresh grease on a new machine

like going the extra mile

i want my words to be

not another dead letter office

not another stolen cliché

not another wistful pensive smile

not another play for today

i want my words

to make the sound

of Luke's light sabre

in your head

but these best thoughts come always when my hands are full

or in the middle of my next odious task

they get me when i’m least prepared

and by the time i’m free they’ve passed