Voices Are Sick
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They, all seated in the crowd, they judged me.
Having no idea of what it meant to stay there, to stay at the top of what you do, well, because competition is what I've lived for, I've thrived for competition, they despised me, because I could do things they could only fantasise about.
I've loved to remain there, within people, at the same spot, but, when the oppurtunity steps up, I step up, I unlock myself, I sense, I hear, I see the proximity, I launch myself, when the adrenaline strikes from my head, to my veins as if, I strike.
Preachers I say are sinners, the doctors go guilty, buses I fire, politicians seem liars, in my own vision.
I see darkness falling, faith calling, justice falling, I hear those voices, to me, they guide the torch with, they teach me.
Things will go defenseless, if you take the guard.
They are there, the voices, all you need to do, is listen to them. For they guide you, they join you, they can screw you.
I say voices are crazy, I say voices are sick.
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I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.
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