I'm tired of standing still.
There is only one way to go.
Forward moving with
One foot in front of the other.
This waiting game has become
A course of feeling
Unpleasant.
I resign myself from playing.
I hold myself higher these days.
I refuse to feel used.
I'm not here for your convenience.
To come and go as you choose.
Release me.
Release me.
From the hands that bind
The turns of time.
Let me be free of my mind.
I want my planted roots to grow like vines.
I want to shine.
Elevate into the sun soaked sky.
I want to fly.
Free.
Free.
I wear a crown, but it is rusted.
I see with eyes blurred.
I breathe shallow breaths.
I am but a glorious mess.
Broken to be strong like you.
Broken to not speak unless spoken to.
Broken to not show emotion.
All this is just a notion.
My eyes are blurred but not blind.
They are wide.
They are wide.
I see too much.
I say too much.
I do too much.
Everything just leads back to nothing.
Abandoned.
Abandoned.
You're leaving.
You left.
You're gone.
And still the hands of time remain.
And the words,
And the motions.
Of on letting go, and taking things slow.
"The poems you write are supposed to flow."
"Read this, write like that."
"Don't be foolish."
"Don't combat."
"Unless it's combat boots, because that's rad"
Well, all I have to say is
**** that.
But yeah, combat boots ARE rad.