My conscience is very soft-spoken it gently knocks
My emotions create such din and drama it rocks
My circadian circus
And then the conscience goes quiet awaiting its turn
No “I told you so’s” no jibes no sarcasm no heartburn
I no longer stress
My attitude is unsharpened it has not learnt finesse
My honesties create issues with my mind and its peace
My responses conflict
And then the attitude goes numb wondering what went wrong
In a realm full of twists and turns verities are sold for a song
I begin to reflect
My countenance is very trenchant it cannot conceal
My appendages create chaos I don’t know what to feel
My social skills lack
And then the countenance goes expressionless confused
When it required deceit and disguise my mind had refused
I face the flak
My disposition is very inclined to retreating in its shell
My interactions with the outside always ring some bell
My trepidations surface
And then my disposition goes silent anticipating turmoil
Some books some friends and acquired wisdom provide foil
I survive the race
My thought process is very slow it cannot fathom people
Those delicate nuances in untold stories are like steeple
My equilibrium tips
And then my thought process goes apprehensive sensing dilemma
I am trying to be politically correct I am not getting it by far
I must close my lips