This is what the inside of my head looks like...
People ask me who's hurt me but most of my pain has been self inflicted. I live in my head and i seldom, if ever, feel like i fit in. But that's a feeling I've come to embrace. I know what energy to attract to bring out the positive and which to repel to keep out the negative. This is an unfinished poem. The unpolished version. A work in progress.... Just like it's always been.
only time i feel like myself is when the pen is in my hand. tell me, what do i look like from the inside of your head.... and is that the person that i ultimately want to be?
consume me until i'm free:
of my troubles. of my fears. of my inhibitions.
i..... sometimes i'm so destructive. some days life really gets to me. just like you, just like you get to me.
i turn to you when my mind is crowded, when my judgement is clouded, when there's nobody there, but you, the pen, and me.
i.... sometimes i crave destruction because it builds character. sometimes my humanity seeps through the chip on my shoulder. i got these wings on my back and you run around with scissors in your hands, come at me, and ask me to come closer.
i.... i want to, but sometimes i just don't know if it's worth the price i'd pay.
cause you got those wings on your back,
and they bring out the chip on my shoulder.
i'm so tired of wearing my heart on my sleeve..... of silver tongued conversations.... of having eyes behind my head.
you… don't let anyone rob you of your innocence. because you'll never get it back.
we are all free slaves.... more times than not, imprisoned by our own free will.
we make our own fate, i wish i'd known that back when i still had mine. my innocence.
enslaved by the art.
free'd by it too.