I apologize in advance
If the things I write vary from rage to lax.
I not a writer of stories or lies
The only story I know is the one that lives behind my eyes.
I'm a lover of fictional lives
The books I read are unlike mine.
I tried
To write a falsehood once
With a pencil and paper
Is was a bust.
The more of the character I wrote
Was a jaded youth
A story much like my own.
I decided to cut the middle ground
I wrote about myself.
It's not pretty in the least
Bits of clouds covered in my words
Sarcastically.
I loved
I lost
I watch my prose turn to rust.
I was foolish enough to trust
Those who used my words for a gram of kush.
Therapy is expensive
And so are the meds
My memories are too cheap
To sell out of my head.
Hello poetry is free
And I don't need to look at your eyes while you're judging.
I'm not a martyr
I'm hands are covered in red
I'd rather be the offender
Than to ever be a victim again.
I try to be as nice as I can
To cover up my cynical hatred.
I try to speak my truth out loud
And it's piled up to a little amount.
I stumbled
I stuttered
My emotion became a safety shroud
Of always knowing that you have no idea what I'm talking about.
Ignorance is bliss
And I love being hard to miss
Fit in the crowd
Of a faceless pit.
My whining doesn't mean ****
But just as long as I get rid of it.
Sure the views are great
And I can allow people to relate
Oh, I'm trending?
Your approval isn't really something that is pending
In my mind.
It's appreciated
But it's not the reason why I live.
I'm sure most of you have less than two ***** to give.
But thanks for letting me vent all the same.
I'm one of many that goes to show
If you can't write lies
Then just write what you know.