I wish I could spin words like Dahl or Tolkein.
Yet all I say comes out bitter or broken.
In my mind, live beautiful universes’.
Where broken memories are carried away in hurses.
I wish my mind would wait a while.
Maybe then, I could be less volatile.
These potions they pass me, to cull the words.
They dull that beautiful multiverse.
I wish that people could understand.
This sovereign power I hold in my hands.
Is it a gift or is it a curse?
Anyhow it’s mine for better or worse.
I wish my mind had some self-control.
To be easily manipulated like a game on console.
But it moves in ways I cannot predict.
Not gently nor ladylike, more convulsive and erratic.
I wish this gift could mean something.
If I could only harness this sporadic imagination.
This curse could finally be a gift; my power.
As the words tipped my tongue I would not cower.
I wish, my words, I could predict.
Though it seems to shame, my brain has become an addict.