Demons

Am I poet or a writer with an ego overlapping his skills?

Or a poet who's proficiently skilled but can't confront how he actually feels

I put my head in my book hoping to fill up the page

I poke a sleeping bear and expecting a hug

I would've been grizzly if I could bare all of this stuff

Two years after learning my father exist

But that was extension of sentence please don't - don't try to judge

In a comma state or should I stop playing myself?

Wipe my ears and hoping for tears

But my face is desert, reflective

Telkom so I never get the message when I network

They say photosynthesize but they cut down the trees