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This is a poem about Survival
I want my words etched into the skyline and in the air that you breathe.
I want to build mountains that reach the heavens
that I don't believe in.
Write my soul on parchment and release it into the ocean,
let it swallow my emotions,
ride along the waves, intoxicated with the heroin
I bleed, because writing is my drug.
And maybe I'm naive,
but at least I'm alive.
At least I have dreams
where my every day isn't a struggle to survive.
Serve me hate on a platter,
Tell me it doesn't matter if you're wrong,
Because there's only one type of beauty
and mine doesn't belong.
Give me numbers to crave when I step onto that scale.
I'll sing you a scale, I'll write you a chorus
to the theme song you'll be singing when I'm famous.
Turn the tables
and write love on your wrists,
hide the scars with your pride
because you're lucky to be alive.
But no matter how hard you try
life tightens its grip
around your neck and you fall to your knees,
and they call you names because that's not being
a lady, and sex makes you a whore.
And if you don't consent it means that you did something wrong.
This is a generation where your voice is never heard
because women are worthless.
And you can't see the sunshine that everyone is preachin'
And all you want is something to believe in.
So you throw your hands up to the god
that doesn't exist
and ask for mercy in a world that can't resist
to hurt you.
And you don't understand because you were given this gift
that turns words into fire and burns sapphire,
the color of your eyes.
Your words are your soul, this language unfolds
at your fingertips
and gives you the courage to stand up to all of this,
and say hey I'm not perfect and for your information,
I'm proud of my flaws, I'll give you a copy of my book,
signed thanks for the inspiration.