It’s been hard to write anything.
Overthinking till my mind overflows with a sea of memories I drown into,
A piece of me dies each time I dip my feet inside of it.
A sea colder than the heart of a mother who gave up on her son too early despite of his potential glowing brighter than ever…
Where else can I go in a world I’ve been exiled from.
No love while I walk down Broadway just,
Scarred by the knives thrown at my soul,
Already waning as I hang on a brittle ledge,
“Everyone has problems!”
Is the response I’m given anytime I try to reach for help to solve this mystery of purpose.
Even if I’m confident on the surface,
I still question if I’m worth anybody’s love in unconditional fashion.
So much anger worn on my sleeves from the madness,
Of being called a crack head,
For wearing the same usual clothes when I can’t afford to fill arrays of shopping bags full of regret I desire to address.
Never said I was perfect as I smoke any time I am under stress,
Clouding my droopy eyes from clearly seeing my own mess.
Everyday I take a small step forward,
Towards what serves me best.
By silencing a mind so desperate to scream and shatter that bottle of rage inside of me.
Slowing down my drive before I crash into dead ends and die!
When these hands were given a plethora of blessings I would love to offer back to a world I,
Just want to be apart of…
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