Where is my voice

Where is my confidence

I feel too choked up

To tell my tales

People tell me

Too often

That I spun my tales from gold

And they don't believe me

When I say that I

Ran out

And have to substitute


For the words

For the pages

And I know that my simple little tales

Are nothing no more

They were made from someone with

Without a mouth

Without a brain

And these hands

Cannot wove those pages and words together

In one single, neatly tied thread

I am too sick

To tell you your stories

Please let me rest

Please let me find my gold

And maybe then

I will be your source of


Yet again

But my voice is too weak

My brain is too bruised

Let me rest my tired bones of thought

Let me rest