I am only the me that you see

Standing here,
Average everything.
I fall somewhere on The Pitt- De Niro spectrum.
I’m not very assembled
But I ain’t Delicate
My Voice isn’t profound,
Nor too shrill.
No noticeable scars,
At least not that you can see bruh.

Average everything,
But average is only flesh deep,
The real tattoo is
Underneath the outer sheath,
In this load,
This concrete reef
of hardened,
Covered up…
It’s a poem.
A poem I’ve been composing inside for a long time,
But it has no words.
It has no words,
So I can be the me that you see.
Let me ask a question.
Have you ever taken a 2-Liter pepsi,
And shook it with all your vigor,
But not opened it?
Then just watched the bubbles,
Demented ,
Completely untempered and without direction,
They have no release,
No escape
and no control.
See inside,
Beneath my surface,
an unsympathetic carbonation crawls,
Like field mice at night,
Always in danger.
there’s a poem that I just cannot write.
It’s been writing itself for a long time,
But the worlds won’t transcribe.
It’s a can of worms,
A Pandora’s box,
extreme and really Daunting .
A specter haunts my opera.
There’s a poem that I just cannot write.
It’s been written,
But not scribed,
I’ve gulped it down,
Lived It,
I breathe it,
It hushes me,
And controls every moment,
So that I can be the me,
That you see.

No longer average.
And no longer hidden.

wanna know why?

This poem that’s been writing itself with no words for long,
Is a mistake.
It is secrets revealed, gou0itkr-introvertsmountains1210jpg-1920-1080

But I cannot continue to write this poem.
I shouldn’t even write about having this poem,

See, I am only the me you see right now bruh.
But if the right letters
Appear in the right succession,
If the words I fear
Are written and read in
a certain direction,
This poem would transpire.
If this poem transpires.
I have
No more poems.

No more poems brother.
There are no more words.
I am no longer the me that you see,
No longer average.
And no longer hidden.