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Feelings Tucked Inside Of My Shelf

Can’t really define what I’m feeling.
So many kind of thoughts that I’m dealing with,
Instilling my soul with a boat-load of smoke rising out of my ceiling.
Temporarily sealing a void with a cloud preventing me from revealing many truths I’ve needed to face.
Forget a blunt to my face as I’m wincing in pain,
When I’m flicking my wrists cringing to sway,
Pen after pen on a page,
Writing my way to what would be my pearly gates…

For the last two years,
I can count the hugs I’ve received in all ten fingers.
I guess I haven’t earned a figure,
Big enough to be respected or loved by another trying to figure out life like everybody else.
I’m dealt hands twice the size of divine figures in my mind,
Bigger than every single memory I had to put away in my shelves…

Stories I’m materializing from the core of a spirit torn by so many lies sent my way,
Fulfills each empty space I’ve kept in dust reeling my days,
To a ground sprouting weeds covering my face,
From seeing things a bit more clearly as I work on my inner rage,
Even if it isn’t anybody’s business to witness my pain…

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