Frustration is the child of confusion and disappointed expectations.
The ideas try to come out, but the words will not formulate themselves in my brain.
There are no real solutions to imaginary questions.
My ideas are stuck behind a door they cannot open because of the
Lubricious door knobs.
Frustration is a bridge toward insanity where the population is plenty. 
It is like the basketball that dances on the rims of hoops, 
The soccer ball that dilly dallies between the line of pride and shame.
They are lifeless seeds waiting to 
Be dropped into the dirt. 
The dirt waits to bear life, but there is no intermediary to fulfill both desires. 
The words I try to unleash
Are stopped by unidentified strangers.
The obstacles are fear, hurt, anger, and disdain
But, they are never out in clear view
Whatever they are, strangers, obstacles or even aliens, they go treading my path of dreams 
Without a rustle of the leaves.
I am in constant remembrance 
For what patience and energy there used to be.