Long years it is
Sitting on a bench
People trying to teach me
But teaching me is like teaching a tree to talk or a rock to walk
They expect logic to be self-explanatory like a self-writing story
But not when you are surrounded by space and your mind is a rocket
Because then there is no time for them and what they call knowledge
Only how fast the rocket goes, with how many voltage

My fingers are typing machines
My brain is a steam engine running on the vapor from my emotions
Poems are life supporting potions
And she is my drive, my reason
She is the weather, that makes every season

My mind is weird
I feel like its wired differently, a little more gently
So, I sometimes sit down and watch words, flying by
Words passing by, passwords, almost like birds, but just words
Telling me a story, about glory and a dragon, guarding gold and territory

I am a neutral
I write popetry, supposedly

City lights
Or
Clear night skies
Closing doors
Or
Wild paths

You don't care about me
That's okay
Because the day I stop
You'll wish you did

It is noting
It is not being hurt, feeling the pain
Its like it sticks to the outside, like a stain.
That is not what keeps me sane.
Its telling you how lost I am.
Because it is in her eyes
All of my fears dies.