Going through the motions to find myself
When everything falls apart, it's fine to call for help
Rather do that than end up on the shelf
I'm not a card dealer but, I'll deal with the hand I was dealt-
I felt back in the days I was never accepted
Mainly due to the fact I was emotionally neglected.
I understand circumstances but that's not an excuse
Not when that neglect turns to emotional abuse.
I was always wired to be a poet
Back in middle school, everybody knew it
Won a poetry contest then they had me read it
That's when I really knew how to do it.
Impact has always been my notion on the pad
But I lost some of that steam to family lag
"Men don't write poetry" a subtle jab-
But deep down that remained in my bag.
Never once did I lose faith in my words
School house rocked them with the nouns & verbs
Digestible just like soft serve
But what if I did listen to them and took that swerve-
To serve the army and be a man like them
Who would I be now if I became like them
What would I be doing if I marched like them?
I had to the wherewithal to know that wasn't my realm
Subconsciously noting their mannerisms of whelm
Downing bottle after bottle, suppressing the helm.
No wonder our worst fears are bred underwater
Our insecurities are fed off the charter
Unknown to those around us so we barter
Depression and disconnect pushing us farther-
Down a rabbit hole with no hope in sight
Leaving us to fend for ourselves in a dire plight
Only a few of us truly survive that fight
The rest of us meet the end of our life.
YOU ARE READING
Days of Healing
PoetryI've decided to log my writing progress while I go through therapy to show how my growth is going. The for every day is to write and then post it here to keep track of everything.
