The Handicap That Is My Hand

Do not mind my broken English It is the stuff of my impairment Used to hold down the thorns of ego Sometimes one has to give up a beautiful treasure trove And be naked from the inside out It is not that my mental capacities are overwhelmed It is the opacity of my mental faculties That hinder my efforts to drink from the well of English language It is only possible for me to limp from one word to another Held down by the weeds of vocabulary Forgive me for my unholy speech It is the conscious substance of my tongue That erases every punctuation mark Puncturing my well-manicured sentences Disfiguring my figure of speech Poetry chose this subject Not based on any ill intentions It is the back alley of human consciousness That has a habit of pouring scorn On every visible particle of light Inside the darkness of the human psyche We have bred a few venomous snakes That are itching to have a bite On the cold flesh of human impairments It is the handicap that is my hand To be unable to hold properly to the reins of the English language ©Kenneth Maswabi