I can't help but think of death. I've dealt with so much in this life, and now after 21 years of life I wonder, is it worth it to carry on? I struggle with listening to all the ignorant comments being spewed out, shot out rapidly as if from a machine gun. People makes comments on issues they don't even understand because THEY haven't looked into it.
NEWSFLASH: The media isn't telling you everything you need to hear. They're only telling you everything THEY know you can't help but want to hear.
You can tune them out. You can close your eyes. You can look on your own. Don't talk to me about equality when it's you who will never see what it truly means to be free.
Your words are static. Anything you say can and will be used against you. The words you say, and the thoughts that you think are going to be used against you in a bad way. Everything you think and feel is repulsive to somebody else. All of your thoughts, all of your feelings, they mean nothing to anybody else. It's all in your head. You can speak as loud as you want, but it will never matter. Someone will always tune you out, and somebody else will drown you out. In the end, nothing matters. It sounds sad, but that's life. Sometimes life is sad. We are all going to die. So scream at the top of your lungs, though it won't matter to anyone. Your words will only be adding to the noise that is constantly streaming.
Sore muscles after a long night of carrying my problems around with me. My arms are killing me as I carry my jealousy and lust everywhere I go. No matter the place, I've always got one thing to count on - yesterday was always worse than today. Each day, I'm getting stronger, and these burdens aren't so hard to carry. Maybe soon, I will be able to carry your burdens too. How many will follow in my lead? How many will carry the burdens of others out of the kindness of their own hearts? How many will see this ticking time-bomb called "Life" as a chance to be something great? You can be anything you want to be. It all starts with heavy lifting, and the pain that the soreness of the muscles brings.
Remember when you tried to write a song? The words got all mixed up in your head, and you didn't know where to go in the end. I took you by your beautiful hands and led you to your better days. We spent those days together, wishing for nothing but the each of us to be happy. We were very happy together. Life's clock raced on, and we kept running. Eventually, you left me, and it obviously made me sad. I spent several nights crying myself to sleep, wishing that you might come back. Now, here I am alone in this chair, staring out the window. I'm writing the words to a song nobody knows. I'm writing a poem nobody has ever read before.