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I feel ocean air when I'm landlocked,
Passed through every obstacle and roadblock,
There's dirt under my shoes, but it sure feels like sand,
I've taken the scenic route, but I'm just where I planned,
I am a prisoner to the world I live in.
I am told how to be. How to be perfect, how to be loved, how to be worth something.
I am dictated by numbers. My weight, my GPA, my class rank, my waist measurement.
My bones were feeble
My breath had weathered
My voice can be heard as a bare, cracked whisper
And I listen at how fragile we are...
For which my lungs, they were thirsty for air
A filter
Nothing but a misconstrued version of normal light
Changing context from wrong to right
Take away this glass magnifying falsehoods and repressing flaws
Bleeding because it paints the pictures
so heavily spilled
in my mind.
And seeing the crimson upon my skin
Gives me pain that makes me real.
Crying because
It makes me view
If all one ever sees are the ebony clouds,
One will never see the polished mists
That fall as thunder crashes loud.
If all one ever sees are the violent waves,
One will never see the beautiful ocean,
I'm coming out, that is my destiny
To rise above what I call home,
To rise above what Society calls poverty
I am a young woman, destined for the symphony of success
I control my fate, and yet...
They say one door opens another closes
But it seems I’m stuck in the threshold
Drag me down an empty hallway
One fool’s junk another’s gold
Suck it up for the onlookers
Like I’m having a grand time
Through blurry eyes she views the beauty of the world, yet those who see clear see an abyss of nothing.
We look up into the sKy
Entwined in it's view for it looks divine
In the day that we may die
We fly through our past
Pray for the day that we lay
An artist’s mind is often swallowed by indigenous thoughts. Trying to balance ones conceptions on a fine thread.
Standing on a cliff
nothing could miss
I look to the gound
at the people with no sound
My hair blown from my face
cold wind and salt I taste
I watch the ocean tide
My way of life
And your way of life
Are two different ways of living.
Where my dreams are reality
And yours are solely nonfiction,
Imagination forms a line
That borders this idea
