Slam Poetry, Vol. I

There's no rest for the wicked, no sleep for the dreary,

who's to say that I don't think clearly?

Sometimes in my brain, things don't stick,

but then in the blink of an eye, it all just clicks.

Scholar of words, a scholar of rights,

yet on the ground, we can all fear heights.

When you no longer know to look down or up,

you may be left thinking it's a half empty cup.

Fear not, we may finally catch a break,

because seeing the world crack causes heartache.