no matter the intent
there is no sure fire way
to be sure
the words being said
are being interpreted
the way they are intended
a confusion of
ingrained perceptions
can twist the meaning
into something else entirely
couple that with
an innate inability
to separate the metaphors
needed to explain
the concepts never spoken
muddies the waters
until everything is
as clear as silt
and as complex as divination

i have learned more
about myself in
the last two years
than i ever expected
to fully comprehend
but i still haven’t
managed to figure out
how not to fumble over
every word i mutter

part of me cannot
seem to escape the idea
a coat hanger serenade
lingers in the silence
that too curious boy
who was taught to
never ask any questions
watching the world alone
with anxiety bubbling
into every hesitation
unable to fully act upon
the thoughts i cannot
coherently form in
a way others can see
writing lines that do
nothing to clarify this
calcification of
scarred masses tangled
in dreamthistle

if i could open
a door into my mind
you would be blinded
at how i perceive you
but every time i try
to saw open a portal
another of my demons
flutters into the world
tarnishing the sun
and bathing the land
in razor sharp shadows
and i gleefully cut myself
on those onyx blades
to be sure my blood
is still a crimson torrent
because i fear it
courses in obsidian sludge
through my failing form

other days i sit
in a circle of salt
ringing a silver bell
as the raven caws
shake my inner sanctum
demanding i pour
my secrets into the aether
for the universe to
callously ignore in
its effervescent indifference