I wish the ink had carried all that i wanted

And the pen didn't scribble opposite thoughts

And my wrist never curled away when I wrote

I wish my heart could have said what it felt

Because my tongue doesn't tell the truth when it should

I find I'm helpless when battling myself

The truth is i couldn't tell the truth if you paid

The truth is I wish it didn't bear so much weight.

The truth is I lie every time i say its ok.

I wish the ink had carried all that I wanted

And the weeks run shorter and my pages weren't numbered

Because the numbers remind that I'm a live grenade with a missing pin

And poetry is the hand holding the lever down

The truth is what's been missing now feels lost.

The truth is I may have told the truth once.

But I'm not surprised you didn't hear, you never listened, or maybe I whispered.

I wish I wasn't getting tired of the banalities

The truth is I'm always trying my best but that doesn't mean that I believe in myself

The truth is I'm tired when I rest

I wish the ink could have carried all that I wanted

And I didn't forget my next line so fast

Because my thoughts come in waves quicker than I can put pen to paper

The truth is I fear I'm slowly driven to madness

The truth is poetry no longer seems enough

I wish my vocabulary would borrow words from libraries to explain my thoughts

But we often don't get what we feel we deserve

The truth is I fear I can't cope without the words

The truth is I'm having troubles articulating the convoluted mess my mind conjures