I'm trying to get off the floor
Hard and painful to break through
This selfish, superficial glass ceiling called corporate.
I have no choice but to sit and sacrifice to it.
Why is it always about money?
No room for the artist, the poet
No time for the writer, nor the dreamer.
I know I need to be at this nine-to-five
If I ever want to afford my paper and pencils.
Determined to write through this candlelight
But when you take the time to look at my face, or stare into my eyes
You will see a river flowing with such grace and force
It will flood your world and make you cry.
With such emotion in a moment of infinite love
That you will feel like you were ready to die.
I have thoughts I want to share with you, if you have the time.
I'm patient though, at least I'm trying.