We sit in these walls
With a million doors pressing closed

They close until you stand up
and pry with your ****** fingers
at least one door open

Even a crack can let in the light.

Im sick of prying with ****** fingers - I want this door flung open now!

Ive felt a few feelings in my life
None that didn't do me help
None that didnt lead me to this exact thought.

**** this im ******* done!

Ive discovered who and what
Its the where and how thats staggering
In circles in front of me
Running like the headless chicken

That i assume is me
But its not
Im in full spectrum

At least i honestly feel like i am

Ive been tricked into a destiny that has no piece in my puzzle

And i have to be brave enough to be all my own parts

That's what they all fear the most

Let be those
Who judge you

Pretending is the hardest game
And im not its number one player

I know thats ok

Its ok

Ive done my mending and changing - as i grow towards my light

How do i do all this ****?
Its confusing
Its bothering

How do you try sow new seeds
Or even mend to the old ones
when someone took a great fat stinking **** in your garden?

I suppose
You have to shovle the **** out
Repurpose it into a sort of fertilizer

Yet i still need to source the mud
& some how you got to keep those seeds safe
& the few buds you have,
some how they need to stay alive

And its wrenching my heart
& i want to pull it out of my chest
& lay it down in some tool box

Perhaps for hands that know how to do with it better.