Some people keep it simple,
claim their body is a temple,
a holy relic of the divine
and use religions to sedate their mind.

But my body is a prison,
made up of all my bad decisions,
though I keep on living
through the struggles I was given.

Shadows burn like acid,
with secrets held so tight
that I cramp inside.

Others like to smile,
party, and go wild
being free in the moment
letting nothing slow them,
till they grow old an
their temple falls down.

But my body is a library,
full of words and thoughts
that are super scary,
a universe inside a small box.
Boundaries once made
turn to jagged edges, then blur,
as all I see and learn
makes me disturbed.