The weight of the world can be found In the circles under my eyes I spend my nights awake Worried about the wrongs everyone else is suffering I imagine what it would be like to be someone else For so long I start writing rap songs harder than DMX And I'm from the suburbs where no one comes out of adversity Because there is no adversity There is success Or there is suicide I worry for the future of ex lovers Not just mine everybody's Will they ever wake up from their depression Will they love again Will they smile tomorrow I stay up worrying so late My mundane work day is my only place to write Or sleep, but I choose writing Because I'm like the rest of my in-between-generations generation We don't expect to live past thirty-five So when I die the only thing my mom will have of me Are these words I write And I'd rather them be a bit more Then love poems to girls who wouldn't remember meeting me I want to write about important things I want the things that make midnight The start of my day To be the things that make my pen run dry during it I worry about hobo cities Full of veterans, drug addicts, and bachelor degrees And sometimes all three at the same time I want to learn how to crochet So I can make a blanket for every baby Going home with a loving mom Too poor to turn on the heater This isn't a poem full of metaphors or similes This is just true stories From people who can't sugar coat their truths Because sometimes you just can't get the blood out of the carpets And your kids grow up playing hot wheels On the stain their mom left when she left Sometimes thirty-five to life is a *** deal And it ends your life Sometimes thirty-five to life is an excuse to get one And sometimes thirty-five to life is the only thing keeping you alive Because three square meals a day Is a luxury you've never been afforded I built a wailing wall in my house And I have yet to put a prayer in it for myself Not because I'm self righteous Or perfect But because I haven't gotten around to it I just know there are so many others Who could use the extra prayer more than I could The way I figure it if no one prays for me And I don't pray for myself That should lighten the load a bit And I've put in so many prayers for other people The wall might just fall through the floor And land in the living room of the lady who wears sunglasses She wears them day and night, outdoors and in I worry about her the most More than AIDS ridden starving kids in Africa More than Tsunami Victims More than broken limbs and missing babies in Haiti I worry about the lady who wears sunglasses Because she knows no other form of love Than the kind he gives her And the closest she's ever felt to real love Was the day he bought her those new sunglasses To cover the bruises he gave her The circles under my eyes get darker and darker With every passing hour And that's not a metaphor You can see it if you turn on the lights And the world is getting darker and darker With every wrong that is suffered And that is a metaphor But that doesn't make it a lie
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe http://goo.gl/5x3Tae