My heart's distressed,
Emotions vexed,
Images can't escape.
I'm perplexed,
My text is vexed,
I can't explain
What I feel.
My hands are dyslexic,
I'm swriled in the vortex
Of unwritten lines to read.
The words are trapped,
My message clapped
In perceptions
That can't be freed.
I try to release them,
Catch and cage them,
Then arrange them gregariously.
Then in a while,
Using some guile,
I'll fashion
Some fine poetry.
Such is the state
Of me.
I've heard the quip,
Been well-advised,
Just write how you feel.
To me, that's blathering,
Bothersome nattering,
Void of poetic appeal.
I need a someone,
Like Anne Sullivan,
To teach me
How to feel.
Not with eye or ear or lips,
But with senses
Alive within me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem