The stories I hold is the key
Who and what I be
Though they may hold me back
Weigh heavy — full potato sack
Pulling away, tear and fray
When I want to go my own way
I want those stories told that torture my soul, hold
That bend me unwilling down the black hole, fold
I want to breathe without pain in my chest, rest
So I can ace life’s test, best
I want to feel the earth beneath my feet, meet
And listen to birds twitter and tweet, seat
I want to hold my arms high to touch the sky, why?
In the hope that one day I’ll fly, bye!
What I want is free, but costs me much in time,
As I sit in the library trying to rhyme.
No matter how many ages
I sit putting stories to pages
Writing them in a notes
While drowning in sinking boats
Or burning them in a fire
While feeling like liar
Because the feelings and words do not match
And pandora’s box has no latch
They come around when the waves are low
They come in the face of friend or foe
They come, wanting nothing but my time
But I just sit here with rhythm and rhyme
