The weight of the world can be found
In the circles under my eyes
I spend my nights awake
Worried about the wrongs everyone else is suffering
I imagine what it would be like to be someone else
For so long I start writing rap songs harder than DMX
And I'm from the suburbs where no one comes out of adversity
Because there is no adversity
There is success
Or there is suicide
I worry for the future of ex lovers
Not just mine everybody's
Will they ever wake up from their depression
Will they love again
Will they smile tomorrow
I stay up worrying so late
My mundane work day is my only place to write
Or sleep, but I choose writing
Because I'm like the rest of my in-between-generations generation
We don't expect to live past thirty-five
So when I die the only thing my mom will have of me
Are these words I write
And I'd rather them be a bit more
Then love poems to girls who wouldn't remember meeting me
I want to write about important things
I want the things that make midnight
The start of my day
To be the things that make my pen run dry during it
I worry about hobo cities
Full of veterans, drug addicts, and bachelor degrees
And sometimes all three at the same time
I want to learn how to crochet
So I can make a blanket for every baby
Going home with a loving mom
Too poor to turn on the heater
This isn't a poem full of metaphors or similes
This is just true stories
From people who can't sugar coat their truths
Because sometimes you just can't get the blood out of the carpets
And your kids grow up playing hot wheels
On the stain their mom left when she left
Sometimes thirty-five to life is a *** deal
And it ends your life
Sometimes thirty-five to life is an excuse to get one
And sometimes thirty-five to life is the only thing keeping you alive
Because three square meals a day
Is a luxury you've never been afforded
I built a wailing wall in my house
And I have yet to put a prayer in it for myself
Not because I'm self righteous
Or perfect
But because I haven't gotten around to it
I just know there are so many others
Who could use the extra prayer more than I could
The way I figure it if no one prays for me
And I don't pray for myself
That should lighten the load a bit
And I've put in so many prayers for other people
The wall might just fall through the floor
And land in the living room of the lady who wears sunglasses
She wears them day and night, outdoors and in
I worry about her the most
More than AIDS ridden starving kids in Africa
More than Tsunami Victims
More than broken limbs and missing babies in Haiti
I worry about the lady who wears sunglasses
Because she knows no other form of love
Than the kind he gives her
And the closest she's ever felt to real love
Was the day he bought her those new sunglasses
To cover the bruises he gave her
The circles under my eyes get darker and darker
With every passing hour
And that's not a metaphor
You can see it if you turn on the lights
And the world is getting darker and darker
With every wrong that is suffered
And that is a metaphor
But that doesn't make it a lie