I’m riddled with creatures that screech in my head
And scream from the bleachers my A-Game is dead

I’m breached by the reachers that claw through my skin
That jitter my features and hate where I’ve been

I fizzle and pop with a dizzying crop
of perennial chokeweeds that blanket atop
Every thought that I think
And I totter the brink
Of this cloistered and boistering
Chokehold that’s moisturing
Dried up old crankings
That frankly are oistering

All that I am
Clamped shut in a shell
of hardness and scarredness
Unpardoning hell

As I yell from my scallions
I simply must stay
No matter the splatter of tattering days
It’s going away…
It’s going away…
Despite how it crankles and heartshanks and sways
All I can say is it’s going away

Little by little
Seedling by seed
Pedal by pedal
Unnettling weeds

And despite how it havocs me still in these days
I’m just grateful there’s progress
I’m thankful there’s ways