I was going to write a poem about chains and dungeons
Just to illustrate how you had trapped me
But that wasn't true
You haven't trapped me
I have trapped myself
In your strange wake that bring me near
Then pushes me back out the ocean of the people caught on your riptide

I was going to write a poem about chains and dungeons
Just so that I could tell about what you had done
How you had kept me there to torture me
And how you didn't know that you were
But then I found that it was all a lie

I was going to write about chains and dungeons
Tell about how you did this to me
But I decided to tell the truth about  this cage
It's made of the strongest brick,
The biggest chains that wrap around me like a python
But this torture
It's self-imposed

When we are running
We are not thinking
When we are lot thinking
We are truly living.

We imprison ourselves in thought
We prevent ourselves from growing
We stay stuck in the same place
Which stops us from going.

If only we could be
Both thoughtful and free
Only then in life
Could we get what we need.

We restrict ourselves from growth
We build a prison out of the mundane
We see freedom outside
And we tell it to go away.

If only I could see
What I does to me,
If only you could believe,
What you do to you.

I sit at home thinking of life,
On the absurdities and all the strife,
Caught in a world that yearns
For beings to explore it.

How we’ve all grown addicted,
As no one could’ve predicted,
To our own little "ideal" worlds
That rest neatly in the palm of our hands.

We cry and complain,
How things don’t remain,
Just way the way we want
When we point our heads to the sky.

Away from our own little worlds,

We see grandiosity unthought of.
We see war, famine, disagreements, heartbreaks, rejection, and loss.
We stare for but a moment taking it in as our minds collapse in the straw houses we created.
And then just like that, we shun all that we see,
And look back down to that glowing screen and start to rebuild.

Not with something stronger, no.

With that same old material so readily available, to those who refuse to learn.
To those who refuse to face the reality of life.
To those who prefer hearing their own ideas on rerun.
To those who care more about having the appearance of a happiness than to actually achieve it.
To those who care more about likes and comments, pictures and videos, than meeting others.
We sit there smiling at that device that eats away at our growth, our character, and our resolve.

And in our haste to prevent ourselves from acknowledging hardships, we miss something.
In that infinite space away from our "ideal" worlds, exists the other half we no longer see.
The happiness, bonds, trust, friendships, kindness, and love.
The people that want to strike up a conversation, form relationships.
The people who desire an emotional bond, rather than a visual one.
We imitate this, attempt to recreate it, in our fictionalized lives, not realizing how much better the real thing would be.

If only we would look up to the sky.