Woke up so dehydrated my mouth was cracked with blood
The pain overtook my body like the sacred bible flood
My eyes burn like fire from all the lack of sleep
No one understands my daily struggle or takes me seriously
Some days I can smile and forget about the hurt
And appreciate the life I'm given and appreciate the worth
But days like this are spent in sorrow, severe and true abyss
And leave me only to desire a better day than this
I ask God for His strength but I never ask for cure
Growing old in this condition would mean more a hellish prison than a promise to be sure
Maybe I'm here to suffer and feel what one cannot
Maybe I'm absorbing the hurt for someone weak and going through alot
Maybe I'm here to open eyes so my soul can really see
No matter how mangled my surface from the battle scars I'll always be
Me

Things not going well now
I'm ready to crack
Satan himself
Laughs at my back

Waiting and hoping
The pressure will take
I'll say something awful
Like God is a fake

That's how he gets started
How he gets in
Turns you against God
And welcomes you in

I'm not that foolish
Sometimes I'm bothered
But he'll never deny me
The love of my Father

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.

2 and 2 are 4.
4 and 4 are 8.

But what would happen
If the last 4 was late?

And how would it be
If one 2 was me?

Or if the first 4 was you
Divided by 2?

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

so you tell the entire world
what a great night
we had together
last night
and then you delete it
in the morning
after everyone's already seen it
what the **** is wrong with you
how could you think
i would miss that
or see it
and feel
fine

Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
  This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people,
  Sick of the city, wanting the sea;

Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness
  Of the strong wind and shattered spray;
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
  Of the big surf that breaks all day.

Always before about my dooryard,
  Marking the reach of the winter sea,
Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,
  Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;

Always I climbed the wave at morning,
  Shook the sand from my shoes at night,
That now am caught beneath great buildings,
  Stricken with noise, confused with light.

If I could hear the green piles groaning
  Under the windy wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
  And the black sticks that fence the weirs,

If I could see the weedy mussels
  Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
  Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,

Feel once again the shanty straining
  Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
  Dread the bell in the fog outside,—

I should be happy,—that was happy
  All day long on the coast of Maine!
I have a need to hold and handle
  Shells and anchors and ships again!

I should be happy, that am happy
  Never at all since I came here.
I am too long away from water.
  I have a need of water near.