Idiotic, that is the word,

My life is nothing, not even heard,

To be or not to be,

When there is no fee.

Words on paper,

They can make a crater,

A way to let go,

Where we can grow.

Sentences in rhythms,

An escape from this prism,

Ive learned to give hope,

And help them, not mope.

A bird in a cage,

Broken wing from rampage,

Healed with the whisper,

Not ever a quitter.