A recollection of it all

Creatively Confused

I used to say that poetry 

Was my only escape from my mind

Until one said that my creative brain

Makes me blind

I don't think critically

Just impulsively into the

Plains that are the landscapes

the trees each one a representation

Of decisions I have made recklessly

I no longer feel safe

In the creative world I made in my brain

like I god I may call myself

All Forming from my heart that is

Slightly shattered

People said I was once good at English

I don't understand any common language

Other than the one that is my confusion

Exhausting the metaphors until

I collapse into the bed of my own sorrows

The silence is deafening the deaf

Hearing aids need glasses to see and glasses need

Hearing aids to hear

The confusion rattles the empty cups that is what I have left to give on the shelves

Like an earthquake

Self destructing the world that I have

Built for myself in my own mind

While others try and radio in a signal

The signal is confused

The satellite around my brain isn't catching

Its throwing itself into orbit

And then out with the meteorite

Creatively confused.

I used to find safety in my poems but

Now they sound like a different language.