---

Out
A sonnet by Robert Stone

---

The words I say are not the words you want
so any explanation useless lies
within my womb of worries as a taunt
that stifles coming out as one more wise.

The things I do are not the actions prized
so disapprovals heard and silent stir
within my self that I alone devised
belief that lonely streets I would prefer.

The thoughts I voice are not the help you need
so disillusionment still roams at large
within my web of wonders as a weed
that crowds my hope when I again take charge.

Misshapen shadows unsteadily cast
refuse to join the now forgotten past.