It makes sense to me though some will not understand

How I’ve drawn the conclusion I’m a patchwork man

Like the quilts of the month that my momma hand stitched

With the thread of a needle and the flick of her wrist

Just let me run down just what patch working means

There’s a heart that’s been torn then re-sewn at the seams

Through life its gets broken and at times ripped apart

That’s just when the sewing and the patch working starts

See the death of a loved one is most hard to face

But that piece of your heart has to now be replaced

So you mix and you match and you ramble thru scraps

You’ll probably get close but you won’t find a match

And just when that new piece you find starts to blend

You fall out of love and need patchwork again

This time it’s not big, only a small piece of fabric

You’d think you could match it, but they’ll surely not have it

The next thing you welcome the birth of a child

A giant piece of fabric to sew takes a while

In continuation with the whole patch working theme

You replace an old flame with the one of your dreams

Your dream love was cool it but it wasn’t meant to be

So you took back your ex cause ya’ll had history

Your trust is renewed so you deal with the fact

They left and came back with a whole other patch

And just as you thought that the patchwork would end

You now are betrayed by your very best friend

Forget and forgive cause ya’ll been down so long

But the shit that do to your heart is just wrong

By now you should know what comes coupled with that

For each time that they’ve burnt you you’ve acquired a patch

I’ve loved and I’ve lost, I forgave and forgot

I’ve cheated, I’ve lied and I’ve seen quite a lot

If you look deep inside to your own heart you’ll see

The stitches and patches that reflect history

A pattern is cool as is your sewing a kilt

But nothing epitomizes our hearts like an old patchwork quilt

So does this explain bout the first line I penned

I’ve come to accept I m a patchwork of a man.

Good Game (copyright 2008)

Poetry

Even now my pen makes trails

That my feet could never walk

And my ink forms words

That my lips could never talk

I’m living outside this skin

But in-touch with my soul

Because I’m bearing it all to you

Promise to be gentle

I write this way to keep my sanity

In order to keep perspective

I must reject vanity

And bridge what seems like untouchable galaxies

Of what I am, would like to be, and who you know is really me

Endless thoughts of days gone by

And times yet to come

Afraid of what’s delivered to me

Only the pen and paper can handle

What’s about to be done

I can’t imagine life without blue lines and white spaces

I would feel caged in

Unable to make it

Turning in on myself

Like a turtle in its shell

Lord only knows my brain would surely swell

My heart would grow big

Too much for my ribs

Overworked by the many things unwritten

So to maintain my well-being

I live outside myself

I write it all down

Move it off the shelf

Let it drip drop in a thousand syllables

Conscious of the fact that I’m being vulnerable

But enjoying the reality that once released

I’m just more comfortable.

Poetry