Page 2.

Before, I was in shambles. My mental health felt dismantled.

My creativity was growing, but my mind felt frozen.

I could not keep up, and so I created worlds of my own ideals.

It drove me to insanity, and I began to not know how to feel.

Everyday is a continuation of a mysterious and beautiful life.

At times I feel I need to think twice, am I having an original thought, or is it just from being a stereotype?

My father wasn’t in my life, due to circumstances beyond us.

And I feel lost at times because growing up life was tough.

To be my own man, and to hold down a college education.

In class my mind is racing, and at work I overthink.

Learning to live my life, is harder than I think.

I found my outlets, and so I do not think it will ever leave me, and I will never leave them.

Am I just a broken son, and has my life just begun?

I feel freedom at the tip of my tongue, revisiting years when I would catch snowflakes when I was young.

Coffee replaces that, and I write poems as I sit in home.

I am afraid of growing older, afraid of growing numb.

Name calls from my stepfather, I recall him calling me dumb.

The only time I feel less oppressed, is when I write poems beneath my thumbs.

I realize I think differently, and I am not much normal.

So I have to adapt all around, I feel trapped all around.