flowers don't bloom in me
anymore,
they died a long time ago.
but look at the dirt on the floor,
where other dead things
grow.
like
prickly desert cactus,
or
ugly brown grass
constant lonely practice
staring in the looking glass
where'd the colours go
that resided in my eyes
did they fly with  the wind flow
whatever they thought wise?
do they not hear my cries
as they soar in the skies
i need motivation down here
but instead I'm filled with
fear.
how do i get to success?
...and when you ask what that means to me
i'll tell you lesser stress,
a cleaner mess,
and this all sounds so blessed
when theres facts, nothing to guess.
my mind plays games
no one else has to play
if they knew the rules they'd never stay
I've been at it long enough as it eats at my brain
but id like to grow back;
roll the bowling ball in the other lane.
grow my flowers, get back on track,
because thats what really should be in me
even if i have to whack and thwack,
i'll win these games.
i want to be free;
so i will be.