The gobble de gook monster on your shoulder
do we get wiser when we get older?
I remain stuttering mumbling
my mind rumbling
I can’t actualise or realise
I cannot translate between mind and pen
and even when
I try to speak my tongue drags across the words
like a flat tyre on a bike
I wish this gobble de gook monster would take a hike
but he’s a part of me like the stories I tell
and even hell
is something I can’t be without.