I fill up the page with my never ending battle with rage.
A search for better days,
Where I can, act beneath my age.
Fill my world up with imaginations,
And those, Careless fascinations,
With those, beautiful conversations where smiles are never faded.
Somewhere in between I lost the fight with this ripened stress,
While my broken sword lies there as I attempt to lay my worries to rest.
This life confuses me like the mind of an adolescent,
As if there isn’t a concrete meaning to my forever evolving existence.
I place myself distant,
Like the nights when I would fight my rest because of that painful resistance.
My dreams can’t come to life in my sleep.
It’s like the fun police is always on patrol,
Targeting my internal assets and which ones I need the most.
Restrict my coping mechanisms so I can’t coast.
The crepe-hanger wants me to endure this bumpy road.
Those under construction pathways,
I illustrated as my hopeless ways.
The concrete lies far below the surface.
My coating is poisoned with a variety of worries.
Copyright 2012 Ta’Mesha Smith