A Quirk To Soliloquy

A danger to my thoughts An intellectual imprisoned to her roots Who am I to mingle? Am I to squeeze the truth? I am confused and tattered But even when breaking I make ends meet What is it for me to further seek? Despite of all the truth unfolded Yet my questions are still tricked to be asked I have tried drowning myself in distractions Yet all is fated to be discovered What were held are bound to dust I’ve held me and still have not come ashore Words written are better off than words said But those unspoken have wrecked me more than it should I have revealed baggages And yet here I am still caught in a wordplay A poetic disgust for those who fathomed Yet applauded for those who knew lesser pain I have been asked more than I have answered Yet my questions remain a riddle I am perfectly watered plant in a broken pot Is it another riddle? Have I again made you wonder?