Write Or Die

I sit on my school desk often,
Trying to school myself with a moral composition so impeccable,
And respectable!
Even if past circumstances led me to lose my marbles,
Temporarily…

I can’t imagine myself outside of a box I’m locked in without paper,
A pen to write letters to those I hold tight inside of my heart,
Even if all I have left is a single “bar,”
As my only weak signal of Love…

Be it,
Is what I was told to do.
And I chose to be a writer.
That means I’m a Rider!
For truth regardless of what I am meant to lose.
Scripting lives out of hell?
Away from those 4locos,
Broke pockets,
Four walls and low moments I no longer dwell!
Inside of,
Is the mission at hand.
Whether or not friends and family choose to understand…

What else matters,
But,
Peace?
And if staying right here gives me that,
Then,
I forgive myself for every wrong I’ve committed.
Maybe I’ll love the person in the mirror,
Rather than imagining him bloodied in a ditch…

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