I cannot shake the feeling.
Wondering if it will ever go away.
Turning around, only to realize no one is there.
Eating out, facing the empty seat across from me.
My heart quietly breaks as I sit alone.
Whispers in the wind do not call my name.
Everyone likes a post on Facebook, unless it is from me.
I lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take me.
I awake, longing for the night to arrive.
Why do I feel so alone?

Is it silly that every time you smile at me, my heart skips a beat?
Or how even your laugh causes my legs to go weak.
Going without you for a day makes my stomach all quesy.
Or how looking at you causes my world to freeze.
Even the simple touch of your hand makes my world go numb.
Or the sound of my name, leaving your tongue.
Electricity flickers across my skin when you're near.
My heart never aches, for I know you have no fear.
Is it silly to feel all these wonderful things?
Or is it simply my love for you, that gives my life wings.

The wooden doors swing open, creaking as they do.
Books litter the walls, tables, and chairs.
Bestsellers filled with politics, celebrities, and dieting.
The "Classics" eisle is all but abandoned.
Shakespeare, Steinbeck, The Bronte Sisters, and more.
Books filled with elegant phrases, heartbreaking last words, and timeless prose.
I run my fingers along their spines, walking past the gravestones.
Reaching the music section, I smile and wander forward.
So many memories to be found.
Mozart, Beck, Chopin, Hendrix, the list goes on.
So many artists here, preserved through a dead medium.
CD's no longer hold a special place in the world, along with the books housed nearby.
As I walk to the entrance, now an exit, I see rows of newspapers.
Yet another reminder of times gone by.
Staring at the building, about to enter my car, I realize something.
This place is a graveyard for old things.
While the world has moved on to Kindles, iPads, and mp3s, this place has not.
That's why I'll come here until the day it to, is buried.

Rain drips off of the schools rooftop.
I dash quickly, hoping to avoid getting wet.
Perfect timing.
As I cross the roofs threshold, a large drop of water hits my right eye.
I brush it away.
Today is my final final.
The cloudy sky and rain are almost poetically intertwined with my GPA.
I look over to the grass separating my building and me.
Faint muddy footprints show in the trampled grass.
I wonder how many students have walked this path in the rain?
Placing my feet in the same steps, I carefully walk through the wetness.
Reaching the school's door, I place my hand on the glass and turn around.
I wonder...

I grew up in the Bronx, rough neighborhood.
Times were tough, my mom didn't know what to do.
She worked long nights, all week as I struggled in school.
I failed every class, didn't make it too far.
Where'd I end up?
Strippin' at some bar.
Every night men would look and stare.
I used my body for money, but nobody cared.
Where'd it get me?
What good did it do?
But through all of my struggles, I made it out on top.
I've made it, I've succeeded, I rose up from there.
Now I'm a rapper, come on.
Go ahead and stare.