A Mouth Full of Retard.

My mouth is a gutter, along with the words I sputter. You'll find me choking on my own spit, just trying to find words to fit. 

See, my mind and my mouth don't cooperate. They don't communicate. They fight for who gets to lead and they never syncopate.

Tripping and stumbling over my words, adjectives before nouns and verbs, punctuation stipulation, manipulation of phrases to which my mind erases.

Faces, I become blank.

Turning the crank to try to find words,

to exhale and push through my vocal chords.

Try to find the point that I'm pushing towards.

So I speak in tongues of idiocy to purposely sound less of a scholar and more of a layman follower.

Another less evolved, unresolved, so-called youth.

Shimmer in my eyes as if I've never seen a bright sky or a loved one die.

Society deems myself either an, "Ungrateful misguided young man."

Or, "Someone with a greater plan."

Make your choice and leave me be.

I'm just trying to live without having to open my mouth too often.