I Am Not A Poet

I have never been accused of being an eloquent man. I have lots of stuff in my head that just stay there because typing is very hard for me - that's why I don't blog consistently. And it's also kinda embarrassing because my spelling is poor (people love to scoff at the bad spelling guy- and assume him to be an idiot). Truth is I'd write all day long if I didn't stink at writing and typing . I wish I could express how much it hurts not to express how much it hurts to have all this stuff locked up inside me. Enough lamentation!

Here's some words from my head:

I once had ink on my skin

it was painful to get on

the image saved me

but not the ink

the image was indelible before it was on and in my skin.

it was more painful to come off

marlboros can be useful

this ink is gone now for years

the image still saves me

indelible

the image alive and willing to save

to give a new skin

the scarred hand (scared and sacred would have worked as well- God loves this bad speller)

so faint now

now one knows it was ever there

but the indelible image

the indelible one

I hope that they can see it

I hope that you can see him

on my skin?

COMING THROUGH IT!