deepundergroundpoetry.com

Trapped

Constant agressions and deceptions confuse my inner message.
I guess, its the guessing that messing with me receiving these blessings.
I was molested.
Started when I was about flat chested, I'm destined to get arrested.
I want to turn back the hands of time, so many things I regret it.
I've been confused, abused, cut up and misused.
I've been bruised and rebuked, that's why I write to these tunes.
I've been used and accused of doing nothing but bad news.
And I'm stuck with this life, I can't just pick and choose.
Singled out.
Blowing down.
Running around.
Going wild.
I'm a lost cause I can't be found.
Times up, let me take another round.
Wasting away.
Wasting my days.
Holding this weight with these tears on my face.
Constant disgrace.
Constant dismay.
I can't just erase.
I can't just escape.
But I need my own Space, need my own place.
Make my own paths, pave my own ways.
But there's no plans for the future, can't even plan for today.
And I'm smoking all my problems just to ash them away.
Questioning the reasoning for me existing.
Internally I know somethings missing.
Wishing.
For a new beginning.
I'm alive but barely living.
I never take constant giving.
Lost myself so whose winning.
See Im just trying to vent to you through a pencil.
No lines no vivid picture i call it a stencil
And I been smoking so much I done messed up my visual.
Went to the doctor couldn't even pass my physical.
But it's a miracle, how my lyrical is still capable of being vital.
Vocab so incompetent I cant even pass the semi-finals.
They label me gay for lack of a better title.
And I worship this weed but can't even open a bible.
Am I liable, for being temperamental.
And whose to blame for these people being judgmental.
And whose to blame for these feelings that are congenital.
I'm tired of potential, I want to be detrimental.
So I should be hypocritical.
Go to a priest and make a confessional.
Dressed in skinny jeans and obscene things, the priest all professional.
Singing hymns and litanies from the processional.
Not bipolar but provisional.
Numb everything feels fictional.
And these words evacuating my lips are actually factual.
I can tell my sisters hate me based on the circumstancial...
Evidence.
Common sense got me burning in-scents,
With my friends to avoid this cat piss scent,
From being trapped in.
Window open.
Wind blowing the smoke back in.
At first it was for my problems but I think I'm tryna fit in.
Negative thoughts conquer the home of my mental mindset.
There are times that,
I'm lost in a crowded room.
My thoughts are consumed.
But Im high so I know everything
Is.
Going.
To.
Be.
Okay... �