A Poet in Distress

Call me crazy for pursing a dream.

Every night my pen bleeds out words of hope, I bank on this hope to keep me afloat.

I write from within my heart, hoping that the world will relate to my pain.

You all receive a piece of my soul, when there is a poem headed by my name.

I give these poems my all, until I have nothing left to give.

I encourage you to be strong, and to embark on your fears.

But who is there to encourage the poet in distress?

How could the master cleaner not deal with his own mess?

I often find time, and potential, steadily passing me by.

The more excuses I make, the less I seem to try.

What happened to the kid with the evlasting spirit, eager to prove them wrong, showing the world that he did it?

What happened to never giving up, and chasing greatness every single day?

My mind is playing tricks on me, and my soul is starting to decay.

My confidence is dwindling, and I can feel myself starting to become complacent.

I am fearing the struggle, which is necessary to receive the glory.

I am becoming relaxed, I am settling for a mediocre story.

I am starting to believe that my dreams aren't so real.

The bones inside my body are starting to ache.

My mindset is changing rapidly, I am now playing it safe.

I was once a home run slugger, constantly swinging for the fence.

But now I am looking to bunt, hoping that I do not miss.

I was once the undisputed King of the jungle, but now I am the one that they hunt.

I am constantly wondering, is there really any hope for the hopeless?

Will restoring my faith bring back my incredible focus?

Will gaining confidence, and motivation bring my spirit back to life?

Is there a heart in my tired body willing to put up a fight?

YOU DAMN RIGHT THERE IS, You do not have to guess.

Duce Bitten signing off, A Poet in Distress.