Who am I, but a vessel of past despair,
With a tangled knot in my mind, aware,
"Break free from the chains of depression's snare,
Confess your truth, find solace in the air."
But does this advice still hold its worth,
When wielded as a weapon, causing hurt?
"The words from a pen, a mind's indulgence,
A gateway to thoughts, seeking resurgence,
Escaping the prison, a soul's penitentiary,"
Said the one who loved fiercely, with intensity.
Yet the voice of the voiceless, it seems,
Falls on deaf ears, lost in a realm of dreams.
Misunderstood, they heard me wrong,
"I wished to shed my identity, be strong,
Not brave enough to change my hair's hue,
Like my smiles, I alter, but never anew.
Wearing a frown, they won't take me seriously,
Even when I express my pain so clearly.
In moments of boredom, my words flow,
But relationships have taught me to go,
Through a board of scrutiny, every decision,
As if love owed me, demanding precision.
But this time, I'll confront it head-on,
No wooden board, just justice to be won.
Success, a pinnacle that feels unwise,
A light-bulb to illuminate my eyes,
To see my reflection in a brighter light,
But as pockets fill, judgment takes flight.
Counting the screams at empty walls,
Filling the void that my soul enthrals.
No cries of woe echo louder than before,
Two Forty-Four, the hour I silently implore.
