How am I?
How am I?
I am oppressed.
Here, I am not free
Or heard
Or respected.
Here, I am told what to do with my own body.

And I can’t help but wonder—
How dare they?
How dare they force me into a piece of cloth,
One they know I will disregard?
How dare they back me into a corner
And wrap me in a headscarf?
How dare they oppress me for my freedom
And cover me as if that's the answer?

Why punish the victim,
When that won’t stop the victor?
Why shun the abused
While glorifying the abuser?

How dare they expect me to listen—
How dare they,
When I have a fire that can’t be put out
Not even by my blood and tears.

I always worry when my father doesn't
get up at the usual time in the mornings.
I love him to death as he's the mirror opposite,
living a life with no controversy while I chose
Narcissism that is leading to my final breath.
I'm trying to be better by staying sober, do
a Trent Reznor and change my life around.
But I know on the icy cold day of my father's passing,
The For sale sign will be placed up on my house,
I grew up in and spent most of my life in.
I hope I can find the energy soon to do this
course to lead to good employment guaranteed.
But I have more literal actions/consequences,
that may take away any change of advances.
I'm going to do it anyway and hope for the best,
and antiquely try and move on from the beast
of bourbon, wine, *****, beer and dare I say
the worse one of all , that is the fire burst of Tequella.
When the time comes, with my inheritance,
I'll keep this house with a deposit,
and hopefully a secure income from my dream job.
Plus, I'll sell my massive collection of memorabilia
that is worth a good 100 thousand at the very least
I just don't wish to end up on the streets.
I'm amazed I have made it so far,
Generally with Aspergers, the same as I
commit suicide before the age of 35.
The police academy practices,
up on the Marmion Ave Main Street,
Never-ending are the sounds of sirens,
and of a power engine roaring, not whining.
And I lose my conscious, so fleetingly......

The lion hides behind the truth,
A gallant knight on pain of sword.
The blind man sees which way to go,
A beggar finds his just reward.

A babblers tounge will never cease,
The tin man masks a heart of gold.
A compass always pointing north,
an unloved heart is treasure sold.

The castle strong as weakest point,
The truth will always stay the same.
A lonesome clock has all the time,
How can mortal man give God a name?

Life is beauty, and life is pain,
a dance of loss, a song of gain.
It shimmers gold, then fades to gray,
a fleeting dawn, a waning day.

It lifts us high with whispered bliss,
soft lips that touch, a lover's kiss.
Yet breaks us, bends us, tests our will,
a mountain steep, a climb uphill.

It thrills, it aches, it sparks, it wanes,
it hums in blood, it roars in veins.
It is laughter, it is weeping,
a waking dream, a midnight creeping.

It is the light that warms the skin,
the fear of losing all within.
It is the hand that pulls you near,
the shadowed doubts, the strangling fear.

It is the mundane, the slow, the still,
the silent hours, the quiet will.
It is the rush, the reckless run,
the roaring fire, the setting sun.

Yet if we never knew the fall,
would heights be precious things at all?
If never lost in tempest deep,
would peace be something worth to keep?

The jagged path, the winding lane,
the burning loss, the hard-won gain,
they carve the heart, they shape the soul,
they make the fractured spirit whole.

So let us rise, though winds may chide,
embrace the waves, the turning tide.
For life's not meant to be a line,
its peaks and valleys make it shine.

Each smile a map, each line a trail,
Etched softly on the skin's embrace.
A journey marked in fine detail,
The story written on your face.

The laugh that danced around the eyes
Still lingers in a softened fold,
A map of moments, lows and highs,
A quiet story, gently told.

Not every crease was born from pain,
Some stem from joy that overflowed.
Expressions that we can't restrain,
Emotions that our hearts bestowed.

So wear these lines with quiet pride,
They are the footprints of your days.
A testament to life applied,
A living poem on your face’s page.

You see what lies before,
Yet chase what could be more.
The simple stands concrete,
But ease eludes your feet.
No space to find complete.
Dreams shape what might unfold,
Yet quake where thoughts take hold.
You see, you know, you stall
A foe that builds a wall.
No fight can break its call.
Time bends, it carves, it breaks,
A paradox that takes.
In shadows, thoughts conceal
The paths you long to feel.
You row through waves unreal.
Infinity’s a trap,
A boundless, woeful map.
It twists what minds can know,
And kills where thoughts still grow.
Let ignorance bestow.
To stop, you must let go,
Release the undertow.
The void’s last kiss will miss
If will can break this bliss.
Step back from thought’s abyss.
Beyond the self, it lies
A truth no mind defines.
To name it is to bind,
To seek it is to grind.
The mystery’s unconfined.