I wish my hands would formulate the perfect poem.
One that would prove I'm not insane and this emptiness I feel wont go in vain.
As if I wake up depressed so I pray yet wake up in the same state as yesterdays.
I know I fear if I don't change that my existence will be a memory
People will have to look at photos to remember me.
Following the formate of old ways that I figured out failed earlier days,
Life's funny that way.
The insight I saw yesterday doesn't fit the same.
I know I'm ashamed but I keep repeating rituals anyway
for if i break habit things might go astray from my dreams.
Like my success is closer than it seems so if I could just fix this after I reach my dreams
I promise I'll focus on getting better.
This is not as easy at one would think.
If one act could fix this hole I put myself in I'd do it till my sorrow within matched the smile
I put on faces so I can pretend that this is the perfect situation when it's really a tragedy
that this controls my morality.
Raise eyebrows then.
Wondering what could be so hard for me to grasp
Take a look at how she is framed
Realize this is not a racial thang that the color of my skin doesn't mean
I don't feel pressured to be thin.
Withholding my deepest coldest thoughts within
Amazing how this poem some how felt like a sin
To put paper to pen and tell the world what I'm struggling to win
a race I once was first place in.
Satisfaction, concentration, I have neither.
Maybe this is it,
Just what I needed to cut this loose from the tight grip it has on
a girl without tags but seems like the cost of her life is dependent on
the numbers her jeans read.
Her tags bleed lies as though her mind hypnotized by the obsession of small thighs,
with smaller size.
Brown eyes hide what sorrow she feeds inside
wondering every night if this time she will die.
My thoughts some fairly tale dream that mothers pray their daughters never live
while me I pray that I open my eyes and this time not just to cry when I'm alone at night.