The walls of society whisper the same:
“Become professional and monetize your gains”
With the magic that I Am, dollar bills could never be my frame
Boxed in, locked in
Hollow in the middle,
Falling in between every crease,
Perusing the solution for life’s riddle:
Definitions like grains of rice
Where’s the one that fits me?
Pieces going in and out
(Wrong shape or image)
I’ve been rotating, flipping, and discarding
Embracing, releasing, feeling open hearted
Yet nothing seems to fit right.
Does this piece exist in the ether?
Physically absent, so there’s no part to fill it either?
Or do I wander in search for this panacea?
Begging, fighting for the cure to Cain’s mania,
Misty fog slips through my fingers
Moisturizing my nailbeds in red;
What crime have I committed?
Forgive me Lord for I know not what I have done,
And if I’ve forgotten, please remember me as your Son
Bestow that memory to raise me from the cemetery
That I may breathe in your arms once more…
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