I wish I would take my own advice that I write on paper lines. These lines describe my struggle with life, why my mental health is at a all-time decline combine that with depression and time. You get someone who describes why their house is not always filled with light.

My poetic lines are masked with rhymes that disguise the ugliness I hold inside. Underneath this, I put on a kid who throws a fit and sprinkle a whole lot of sin and you get this. A man, who doesn’t understand he can’t change God’s plan even if he tried with both hands. My hands weren’t made to expand the Devil’s plan. God’s plan is to mold me into a man that can withstand the Devil’s trance.

I wish I can advance and attack instead of collapse and whither like a plant. I can’t relax when I’m constantly getting harassed by the Devil’s laughs. My future happiness are memories from my past. I wish I can redo this life and get one second chance. I want to go back, back where I surpassed all the slaps and smacks that life threw at me. I want to be what my father raised me to be. A man, who now understands that even a plant can become a branch.

I write to fight off demons that haunt me at night. Late nights when the moon is out aren’t always bright, but that’s alright. Writing is my therapy to at least gain some clarity. This works for me. These poetic lines that I write will heal my heart with time.