There’s plenty that I want to say,

But the best way isn’t through foot steps,

I’m the home of my mental congress,

Collective thoughts cycling down the drain,

I’m going crazy losing my mental train,

I’m pretty sure it derailed when it missed that turn at albuquerque,

I’ll keep my words locked up like I lost the key,

And who would have known that words would flow so furiously,

I feel like my hands have forgotten the feeling,

Or was it my mind just trying to throw it away,

But I’ve got plenty to say,

Though to do so with foot steps will paint the wrong picture,

Because I hold my soul higher than my foot,

I’ll map out this chess board like I’m trying to find treasure,

And walk it blindly like I’m a pawn under pressure,

I’m trying my best to do anything to impress her,

Talk like I’m a big shot,

Walk with some swagger,

But I’m actually nerdy and a bit out of my mind,

Got less flow than this poem,

When I think, I tend to lose my place,

But I’m actually nerdy and a bit out of my mind,

Trying my best to go through this with ballet type grace,

But I’ve lost my dancing shoes,

Left them in the cubby in my kindergarden class,

Or my locker in grade twelve,

Because I’ve grown past this high school ish,

But hopefully this poetry isn’t part of it,

I still feel like I’ve got plenty to say,

But my hands are stuttering across the page,

Like I am rhyming single syllables with my heart beat,

So lend me yours so I can distinguish what I need to hear from what I need to say,

Maybe I’ll take you on in a little game of four play,

Four words for each heart beat and eight words for each blink,

Then we’ll clang hands and drink,

Drink the subtlety of my voice as I reach in your throat,

Pull out your imagination and watch as your eyes close,

Focus on the reflected imagery of your mind on your eye lids,

And I’ll tell you everything that I have to say,

Because I’m not sure if you know or not, but I’ve got plenty to say.