I don't think I quite know what freedom is yet, But I see it right in front of my face. It's right there, so close but my hand seems it cannot grab the handle to the door and open it. I want this "freedom" as bad as everyone else who speaks of it. Maybe I will never be free, just chained up so close to the door, maybe that is why my hand cannot reach it . I am screaming so LOUD, Why can't anyone hear me? And, then I open my eyes and realize that I have been trapped in my mind for some time now and forgot that I am a prisoner of my own thoughts.
- P.O.T ( Prisoner Of Thoughts)
YOU ARE READING
Poems by the black gay boy.
PoetryJust thoughts and stuff in my head that I make into poetry nothing big.
