Idiotic Idioms

I open my mouth to be precise and say something nice,
but what comes out are words I never meant to speak
this week. I need an auto-correct installed on my
tongue.

I decide to write a serious poem about race
and the perils of being black, but the same
confusion of words that happen when I speak
comes to the printed page.

I cried last night and the night before because
the words I wrote weren’t the words I wanted
to. I write my protagonist will be walking down the
street or sitting in a library, without thinking or deciding

what my character is doing, I find him flying, after dying,
in outer-space. Sometimes in a ship for a long trip, and
other times floating as a spirit. Other times my character
is a God we know creating new worlds. He changes

on a whim to the Devil or goes down one level and becomes
a demon disguised as a seaman. I try to write romance and
end up marrying a dog, or sometimes a worm that will never turn
into a beautiful butterfly as I hope and dream it would.

So I started drinking, trying to take my blues away, I spent it all
on drink and drugs, and now I have nowhere to stay. But, I’ll keep
on drinking I’m thinking until words I say and write are the ones
I want to see on a page.

Instead of installing the auto correct on my tongue to inspect the
words I speak, to succeed I need an algorithm inserted into my brain
that’ll solve my language problem. If that doesn’t work I’ll believe my
thoughts and words aren’t mine at all.

There are those who believe our thoughts are implanted by beings
out there who are playing a game without a name, with humans as
avatars. If that’s true, I’m blue, because the words I want to use are
superior to the ones they replace with idiotic idioms.