, , , , , ,

poetry to me.. is my tissue
my painkiller.
my river.. tranquil as ever i try not to fall off the deep
when those say i am nothing
i see verses in my mind..
lines upon the walls of my brain appear here
i felt my heart undergo a cardiac,
stress courses through my mind
causing my spirit to lose its glow..
i was told by my uncle, all you can do is try.
but trying is not acceptable to some
you can try to pull the moon… but did you achieve it
you can try to extinguish the sun.. but did you achieve it
at some point your short comings will cause you to become obsolete
i see that now…
as i sit high looking at the ground
i just want to appease, relieve
and love
disappoint.. i hate that
maybe because that’s placing me in a catogory with someone i said i would never be
so trying is all i can do.. right
when no one listens.. i find myself here
it hurts when people dislocate from your life
even the toughest, can come to tears
its very isolated in this corridor..
humbling? not at all.. hurtful more so it is
to feel as if you’ve failed the portion that made you whole
can cause you to self destruct.. what happens when you lose that control
poetry to me can identify the lost
heal the broken.. silence the spoken
but it can also be the tissue
the river.. tranquil yet peaceful
can be seen as a religion practiced by those who constantly lose
by those who love, by those who choose to change the world
when know one else wants to

Jay G