Smoke Signals

aka my uncategorised plethora of poems which are a mix of half formed thoughts, full on effort that missed the marked and quick musings that strangely went down well. Then pondering why I leave them posted when there's an opportunity to create a shop window. Well the answer is obvious, I'm just like that... Poem after poem flying by Only some editted for viewing eye Others so raw they should hide Lost in the jumble of the constant barrage Overshadowing things 'that could impress' montage Echoing my repeating tale of self sabotage "Tidy yourself up" I shout from within Whilst presenting unfiltered mess, fit for the bin Not really knowing where I'd begin It's hard to know if I'd be better or worse Showing off only my perfected verse Authenticity and need to be known, a strange curse Am I consciously doing this to fulfil an unknown aim Occillating wildly from the 'wt* to good' game Perpetually skulking in my own cloak of shame Why not hide the whirring cogs from sight After all, I do scrub up alright Discard anything and everything not airtight "I don't know" is the answer it seems Perhaps due to adult/child thought streams Still carrying the burden of those unmet needs Constantly craving other kindred souls Who see through my smoke screen patrols And pick me up and carry me home