It's like you can reach down my throat and feel the words trying to come out. You can look me up and down and see the jitters of plans contained. How my mind shuts down and my heart stumbles is a mystery but a happening just the same. Creativity unable to seep out of my pores as my mind cannot connect visions to words. I become a ball of misunderstood weirdness rejected by most. But that is not what I am. I am those trapped words fighting... I am those butterflies that sit in the pit of your gut. I am... misunderstood. A faulty conjunction and a scarred unyielding force.
