By Tim S Poma

Feelings of inadequacy
Stares me dead in the face
As I tell my self you’re worth the wait
Spinning a wicked web in an artificial sin
Still waiting for the words that will tune us all back in.
As there is a twin that holds me hostage
Who wraps my mind up in chains of bondage
I wondered how long I could stand to be called a man
Even when everything’s going as wrong as it can
Can I help that I’m a handy helpless man
With tons of tools I bury in the sand
All of my talents buried so deep
I pick them up in a little pile of love Id love to keep
And throw the rest to sea
And then you see what is truly left of me
A felling of inadequacy.


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