My soul yearned, will want, and will seek for a way out.
A freedom and a home it sought.
As my soul yelled for help,
It impatiently waited for my body to go limp.

A polite murderer: I guess that’s just the way my soul is wired.
The need to be understood, seen, and admired.
Makes my soul want to tear it self away.
And blind the whole world with its divine light as people -from its beauty and horror- sway.

I, sometimes wish if my soul was to be contempt with its golden cage:
my body.
But, I yearn to escape this cage the more that age.
I yearn to be more than a nobody.

But how do you become great as your feet are shackled.
As you find yourself wasting on the floor; by reality you were tackled.

In a river of diluted red streaks,
your tears flow never endlessly down your cheeks.
For your soul gave up before your body.
Congratulations: you have become another faceless nobody.

There is a name for this phenomenon.
A phase I wish I could look beyond:
growing up, maturing, entering adulthood.
Why did we have to outgrow childhood? That I never understood.