When I had nothing, I had nothing to lose.
I lived freely,
blown by the breeze of the night,
ready to go wherever it may take me.
Over time I’ve accumulated so much,
so much now to lose.
I built my walls high,
locked all my doors
and boarded up my windows.
I sit inside,
cradling a gun.
I just sit
hoping nobody comes to take what I have.
How ignorant I felt -
Suffocated to fill your cup -
How I tried to get inside your head -
Until I finally realized. . .
You're the one who can't understand
for which I am simply lesser.
we're from the
we're coming for
we're giving you
the wrong address in order to hunt
don't you worry about it
don't you feel intimidated it's
fine being inferior
don't ya think bro?
Today is a good day.
for you being the only one i have to count on
you sure aren’t really there for me lately
maybe my everything isn’t enough for you
and that’s not your fault
but before you count all the things i couldn’t give you
don’t forget the times you took advantage of me too
i hope i’m enough for someone one day
they left me for dead,
no eye, no tear I could lift to the sky,
shame always befalls me,
no one to blame but me,
I rarely stand tall but keep my balance in check,
I always want my friends to fall in line next,
I've been going through some things on this rocky road,
but thanks for knowing there's never any backbone,
in fact, there's no backbone in this life.
loss lack of support
my hands are round instead of flat, now if only
my thoughts were stored in my hands
my brains and some motor control
some real talent besides empty words
my hands are similar enough to my mind
my thinking has become soft and flabby
my digits do the same wrong movements
I refrain from stretching out for what I want
my skin is so delicate I fear I may tear it
my cells liable to break under slight duress
my fingers small and deformed, clumsy
always falling short when I reach for the bar
my fingertips live in a numb icy nether
my circulation is clearly beyond subpar
my heartbeat second-rate and slowing
I wonder why my immense sky is so limiting
my body is my graven image I dare not pray to
my manifestation of an inferior mind
my burning bush is barely a flicker
as time oxidizes my single lonely existence
Go hard, or go home, right?
I'd rather cut off my hands at the wrists
Than make a little incision.
No temptation to take a blade to my throat,
Then, because I wouldn't have any hands,
Just bleeding stumps, see?
No hands, no grip,
No blood, no life.
Nothing but a pitiful excuse for a body
Without life. With severed hands,
And nothing to serve with
But glances of pity and sob stories
To warn your children not to be like me.
Useless excuse for a person
Who handicapped themselves!
It's so ridiculously stupid, it's downright comical.
The men who freed themselves will
Laugh their little heads off at this.
They might take a look
At the space that their hands compose so
And perhaps wonder empathetically
What might drive me to discard so many
Perfectly designed atoms designed subpar.
Maybe a brighter one will realize
The truth- it's psychological
No hands, no touch
No touch, no feel.
i hide them–
hide my feelings that is,
i don’t let them loose,
afraid of what they’d say
or how they’ll look at me
but they already look down on me,
already talk bad about me
so what does it matter?
why won’t i let it out?
i wish i could scream and shout
but they’re trapped,
trapped in my head
with no key to let them free–
all they want is out
but i have to keep telling them,
no, out is not where you belong.