May, I’m not made to use my head

But only my heart to say I’m not

What I am expected to be.

Maybe I’m not good at all.

Maybe I’ve just made my point.

In fact, I only speak, as you can see,

In baby sentences.

It’s only one sentence

And I feel creepy.

Where’s the word?

Oh, am I too crumpled?

Could be. The head

Doesn’t gather the fevers,

The hand now a fumbler.

I must stop,

Am too muddled,

And just trying hard.

