I pride myself on the words I write

Like a Picasso painting my words art.

I can easily put together an intricate story

My words make you hold on to the edge of your seat

Praying against an inevitable defeat.

When I speak its a different story

You wouldn't think of me as a beautiful writer.

When I speak sometimes I even think "God what's the matter?"

I speak with anger in my heart

Of a past I just can't part

Chemical imbalances are a factor at times

Sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind.

Sometimes I want to be held

Sometimes I want to scream and if you happen to touch me

All hell will break loose.

But man I'm working on me.

In every possible way

It's a slow burn I'm losing my mind

I need help...

I know I can't do it myself

So I look to the hills

Because all of my help comes from thee

He who is above all things

He who created me

The writer and the speaker