I started to stare up at the pale blue sky
Allowing the clouds to help care for the shards of my mind
And as the green grass tickled my skin, back into the dilemma I'm facing my thoughts went back within
The breeze gently kissed my face as the smile transformed from a grin to a grimace
I started off so well and fell back into overthinking like a man imprisoned

So I guess I should let my thoughts fly as I stare at the sky and let my instincts take over

I'm 20 years old now
And I've seen technology advance and what happens when socialites go wild
and I've been mulling this over for awhile
I began to understand why the older generations hate us and always rely on poorly researched "Truths" to debate us.

It's because of how much the world has changed.

The world has changed and immeasurable number of ways since way back in the day
From the rise of the Internet from a finicky gimmick to a major uncut media outlet
And so quickly it seems as though some rewinding is needed to some, in a manner most drastic


However progress is needed even though it is a slow and painful process, whether it be in the church or out on the streets everyone's ideas deserve to be heard no matter how bizarre because that's how we remain so unique

Can anyone tell me
Where I'm supposed to be going?
Even the humble plants on the ground
Grow without knowing
I've enjoyed this journey, ups and downs and all
And I still don't know how to fight through life's fog
And the more I try to find answers the deeper I go into the smog
Can you tell me where I'm supposed to be going and what I need to be doing? Because I'm tired of being a nomad with no cause

Why do the words find my pen so appealing and my mouth the opposite?

Why can my Writings express my feelings and my speech barely even scratch the surface?

Where can I find a happy medium between my pen and my mouth
Because it's really killing me to have all these thoughts swirling around in my brain, and not being sure about how they'll come out

Sometimes one moves faster than the other
And it's annoying, not funny like undercover brother

So if anyone knows how, please tell me what am I to do?
Because my head is wired more chaotically than the San Diego zoo

Your words were like this velvet glove
Silky and sultry, heavy on lust with subtle hints of something like love
The kind of hypnotism that could only have come from the stars above
Your voice was an aphrodisiac that couldn't be stopped, because the more I heard you speak with those trouble colored lips I felt like I smoked a spliff with some really good crop

My mind told me no, but my body couldn't bear for you to stop
So sensual, so seductive yet reserved at the same time
Like this velvet glove, you were aesthetically pleasing yet internally teasing at the same time

Why do the words find my pen so appealing and my mouth the opposite?

Why can my Writings express my feelings and my speech barely even scratch the surface?

Where can I find a happy medium between my pen and my mouth
Because it's really killing me to have all these thoughts swirling around in my brain, and not being sure about how they'll come out

Sometimes one moves faster than the other
And it's annoying, not funny like undercover brother

So if anyone knows how, please tell me what am I to do?
Because my head is wired more chaotically than the San Diego zoo

A tear fell down
As these words appeared on this page
And though I don't have the wisdom of a sage
The clock moving forward doesn't do much to wounds but allow scars to grow, some develop invisibly whilst others are more likely to show
This I know because you see the scarred heavily out in the streets.
Seeing horrors unimaginable, and never truly recovering,
Expected to return back into our cruel society without any time to digest what they witnessed and go on in silent suffering.

Time's Scars never really do heal, the skin never sutures totally and the blood does fall out of us constantly...
But you can be the antiseptic on this infection...and rediscover empathy