At 5, his eyes grew wide with wonder
He jumped on the giant chair and swirled
His father’s office seemed like a castle
To him; the biggest in the world!

At 15, he stood determined,
Ambition burning in his eyes.
One day he'd reach the top as well
For him; the limit was the skies.

At 25, he was undefeated;
Half way up the ladder to success
Nothing could derail him now
He was the greatest, He was the best!

At 35, he held his daughter;
All his dreams were coming true.  
He stood in his private office,
Brimming with pride, he admired the view

At 45, He'd made his money
The time to follow his heart was now
To silence all those naysayers
And find his own way somehow

At 55, He could see
the dead end his child was heading towards
despite all their fights and laughs and tears
She never did heed his words

At 65, He sat content
On her swirling chair, his heart glad
She smiled around her office proudly
And said, "Look, I finally made it, Dad!"

At 75, His grandson cried
His daughter too, with frustration
Finally, He could tell her all about
Parenthood’s trials and tribulations.

At 85, He smiled as
His family surrounded his death bed
He'd lived a life of no regrets
with nothing left to be done or said

At 95, He lay in the ground.
Decades of his memories living on
In his family’s hearts for years;  
Their love for him forever going strong.

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. I jump
You call it falling, I call it flying

Deep in the abysses of my brain
Stands, with a shovel, a tiny man.
When someone says those magic words:
“Dig a little deeper.” He gets to work.
Shoveling nonsense out of my mind
In another futile attempt to find
That something special, something unique
Those raw emotions that I just can’t reach
He looking for treasure, his never ending chore
No X to mark the spot, It’s not easy for sure.
He digs and digs for that perfect line
That’ll tie together what I write.
He’s hard at work with his shovel
I always give him so much trouble.
Looking for words with greater meaning
In a space that seems to be teeming
With silly thoughts and childish drivel
Stands The Little Digger Man With his shovel

She writes like the grim reaper
About pain, loss and tortured souls
Yet she has the sweetest smile
That could make a broken man whole

She writes about the lonely girl
Who cries for her broken heart
She says she's never been in love
For her, lying seems like an art

She has a quirky sense of humour
Her laugh is a sweet melody
She write about being lost and alone
Shes always surrounded by family

She writes about the child that cries
While his parents fight downstairs
She's lives such a happy life
With no sign of pain and despair

Sometimes when she speaks to me,
She seems so young and naive
Her poems carry such soul and depth
That they came from her is hard to believe

How can she understand my darkness
If she's never felt pain or desolation?
Why do her words ring true to me
When I know it's just her imagination?  

Her sad rhymes always make me cry
I just can't figure her out
Is there some sorrow that she hides deep?
Or does she just twist her words around?

You’re afraid to face the crowd, so you let her go instead
Let her say those words out loud that live inside your head

Let her feet test the waters, before you dive into the deep
Let your inhibitions fade, before you take that leap

Let her stand on stage, you’re just a spectator
Let her have the glory, let her bear the haters

Let her build your confidence, slowly brick by brick
Let her know all the flaws, before you reveal your trick

Let her learn and grow, let her discover where she went wrong
Before you step out from the curtains and show you it was you all along

Let her take the bow, while you listen to the applause
Let them cheer her name, you know that you’re the cause

But don’t get so cozy in the shadows, that you remain a silhouette
Of the name that gave you fame; don’t let her become a regret

Remember that you made her; she’s just a shield you hide behind
Never be afraid to let them see *you and your ingenious mind

Music blares in my ears.
Maybe it’ll drown out the sound of the ticking clock. In those moments of silence between songs, I hear it louder than ever. Tick Tock, Tick Tock.
Once in a while an inspirational song comes on; telling me that I could be standing in the Hall of Fame and for a moment, I believe that I can get through this. The ticking loses its volume a bit.
Other times, it’s a song with a catchy beat and I throw my hands up and dance. I dance to the beat of the clock. Tick Tock, Tick Tock.  
Sometimes, it a song with lyrics I wish I could say in reality. I notice feeling regretful makes the clock tick louder. And last but not least comes the rap song. I forget everything as I try to keep up with the song. I always feel a sense of satisfaction when I manage to get the words right. In my own way, for those 4 mins 32 seconds, I beat the clock. Tick Tock, Tick Tock.
Oh! And I almost forget that awkward song in your playlist that you always have to explain. For me it’s a random French song. It always makes me reminisce and wish I could turn back the clock. I lose myself in my memories and before I know it, the song ends. The clock waits for no one. Tick Tock, Tick Tock.
I never realised I had so many emotions in my playlist. I turn of the music and attempt to continue with my work. I check my watch for the time and the incessant ticking haunts me again. My watch straps feel like shackles, even though my watch is digital.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock

Give me wings
Burn them onto my skin
Ink them upon my arms
Let them shelter me from harm

Give me wings so that I may try
Give me wings so that I may cry

Give me wings
Let me fly.

I remember when I wanted to be
Anything and everything somehow
Now I’m starting to think:
Was that jus childhood or I am different now?

I haven’t achieved anything yet
I’m ordinary and average
I’m no one you’d remember
The world is not my stage.
 
Still, why do I feel I don’t need any help:
When it’s obvious that I do?
All those people giving me advice,
Why can’t I just listen to you?

Why does it take so long for your words
to sink into my brain?
Why can’t I see how much I lose
And how little I gain?

Why did I make myself this way?
Why can’t I make myself change?
Why can’t I just do it?
Why am I so strange? 

Why are there so many “why?” s in this?
I need to stop making excuses
Stop procrastinating and delaying
I should just get down to it.

There are things I need to do
I need to learn how to talk
I need to start listening now
I need to crawl before I walk

Today, I feel like I’m worthless
Tomorrow I’ll feel fine
I need whatever I’m feeling now
To stay inside this brain of mine.

I’m too young to be worthless
Too young to keep on crying
Too  young to even feel this way
Too young to stop trying

I just need to find the will again;
The will to do something great
Find it, Keep it and never let it go.
“I am the master of my fate” (Invictus, William Henley, 1888)