Poem #1

There is a point in life when we have to ask ourselves the same exact question over and over. Why me? Why do I have to be put in this spot in which I regret. Why do I these I have burdens that follow me like horrible memories. And the answer? We may never know. We may very well just scamper around this place blind. My existence? My existence is like a chicken that has just been decapitated. The blade? Life. The head of the chicken? My emotions, hopes, and dreams. The infrared jewel of blood spewing like a faucet from the body of the nearly lifeless chicken? Stress, anxiety, the feeling of doubt cloaked in a blanket of self-pity and hatred. As the chicken dies the feathers of what once was are plucked like a flower from a garden. I was never meant to fly. Never meant to reach heights at which I can sit upon in triumph. A wall made of defiance stacked as high as I'll never be able to reach defensively stand upright at my feet. The bricks are made of the concrete from the ground that I am