Words spill from me, <br />Not tip-toe but rolly-polly <br />Onto the floor. <br />But they’re two-year-olds not teens <br />And they don’t make any sense. <br />They simply fall over themselves, <br />Especially when around you. <br />They’d like to make sense. <br />They stutter and gurgle <br />And point distractedly, <br />A mime effect, <br />A struggle for clarity. <br />With big blue eyes <br />They look out onto the world <br />Confused and irritated <br />Because no one can understand. <br />Instead a cheek is taken <br />In forefinger and thumb, <br />Squeezed tightly <br />And then forgotten. <br />And my words are left <br />To totter off <br />To find others of their kind, <br />Who might just understand.<br /><br />Mathew Lewis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/childlike/
