I will always question what is and what isn't. Today, I noticed myself slowly slipping off. I am slipping off from something others feel obligated to have a grip on. No. I'm not slipping because my hands are sweaty or because I'm too weak to hold on. The pressure isn't getting to me. I am slipping because I feel like what I'm holding on to is a piece of my imagination. A piece of nothing possibly concrete. A piece of nothing possible. A piece of nothing. The result of brainwash tactics performed by those fearful of me being fearless.
I only hold on because I want to one day find out what it is that I am holding on to. I'm not slipping because I am too weak to hold on. In fact, I am too strong to hold on. This grip is a golden doorknob hanging from the sky covered in baby oil. My hands are covered with melting butter that never seems to go away. Maybe if I slip and fall I'll realize that the ground is an inch, no, a centimeter below me. Maybe I'll realize that I was holding on to something that never really mattered. Something that never was matter. Something...that never existed.
YOU ARE READING
Very Witty Title
PoetryThis will be a collection of poems that I have written. Some of them are poems I wrote in class when I was bored. Some of them will be poems I wrote at home when I should've been doing my chores. Some of them will be things I wrote because of my dee...
