Life gets hard when society begins being entirely different from being

What’s justifiably right

That’s what the irony’s like

When kids can’t go to bed without hearing a siren at night


And then you have people who are having no regard or manners

And making homes of bars and slammers

Cities blowing up like vinegar mixed with arm and hammer

But still I’m so gifted it’s alarming Santa

I find solace in these bars and stanzas

Still, I’m not using the most of my potential

But when I do well it isn’t close to coincidental

But people would tell me that as if they’re supposed to be resentful

Of my growth in incrementals

They hate to see me so successful


But when I hit a dead end

I try to keep walking

But others just try to fit in

Like parallel parking


And I know that didn't rhyme perfectly
But no one is perfect so why exactly should these verses be
My verses are a person in the sense that the words I speak

Personify my thoughts and  flaws, embodying all the hurt I see

People will always try to ridicule

Whether you’re in elementary, high, or middle school

But little do they know that you’re an independent individual

With an intent on being visible


And dreaming in a demented society that frightfully seems unforgivable

Trying without relent until you’re shining at your pinnacle

And in fact, I can’t do that just by rhyming syllables


But my musings are made manifest in metaphors

And pain provokes my pen

So my bruises are what I’ll be remembered for

My name composed of them

This poem is about: 


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