this struggle

for words to come out

my stammer as a child

used by my people

to hide

obfuscate

rather than make clear

their hate of me

not one word exists

of my early attempts

to throw down a line

my notebooks thrown out

i found on my first leave

everything gone

ramblings ideas notes

these being the days

of a back pocket notebook

fantasies about women

thoughts on just how the world worked

my struggles & battles

& i’d pay a pretty penny

for these thoughts of a lonely child

trying to make sense of himself

the charades he was caught in