The tiles stay the same
A grid to measure how little was done
The traffic of routine
Allows at least a little
Fading in the grout
Still there are tiles
Untouched in the small spaces of habit
How can there be
So much unexplored
In a schedule unchanged
For thirty years

The entirety of my mind
     Flexed in a single

Movement

             In that moment

                                         Days it lasts

Nothing is lifted

The words
                    Too heavy
                                       Anyway

                                        I
                                    Tried

I follow my passion, my emotions, my rhymes.
          And just like that
      Fulfillment
                  No more blank lines
Pride was the struggle
       I conquered it slowly
But it happened
              
“Shouting it from the rooftops.”
          It was meant to be my reward
     I wanted nothing more
They wanted more
I have nothing more

I was handed a mirror
        They demanded a snowflake

Scavenger by very nature,
     And nuisance to those
     Who’d judge and propose
Only pessimism of this creature.

Though troublesome, in a sense,
     To instinct it’s bound,
     And blame confounds—
For its entirety mere innocence.

Lions, though great and proud, it aids—
     For in its small size
     And its meekness lies
True intent and respect others evade.

Despite the slightness it commands
     The large elephant
     Is fearful and can’t
Overcome what it doesn’t understand.

Viewed as disgusting, vile and weak
     Though when the time comes
     And all others run
I’ll scurry on, stand proudly, and squeak.

Fate is cruel to those who seek it.
Crueler still to those who meet it.

Thoughts in twain,
     Emotions follow.
Reality sinks—
     Forced to swallow.

A breath escapes;
     The scream of soul.
Personality fights,
     Destiny controls.

Downhill trodden,
     Steps still taken.
Freedom hidden,
     Universe mistaken.

Unhem the doubt,
     Diffuse paranoia.
Cut the cord,
     Bleed utopia.