Waiting patiently's a useful skill
I often lack. Oh, I may seem to be
As calm as anyone you'll ever see,
But only my exterior is still.
My inner workings and my inmost will
Are constant turmoil, helter-skelterly
Sploshing all about unevenly
Such that I fear my organs might all spill
And show the world outside the way I feel.
I try to keep an outward even keel,
But even that is strained, and inward woes
Show themselves doubly when restrained without:
Leaving me distressed while no one knows
The way I'm discomposed, or what about.
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