I’ve always wondered why my over active mind

Doesn’t seem to have the slightest chance to find

The answers to the questions that wear me down,

That continue to make me secretly frown.

Why don’t I ever say how I feel?

Why can’t I see who is real?

Why do my eyes so often fill with rage,

Like a wild tiger trapped in cage?

Why did I try to end my life

With a serrated kitchen knife

At the innocent age of five?

Why am I still alive?

Was it the fear in my mom's eyes,

The lack of courage in my faint cries,

Or the challenge to prove my dad wrong?

Why don’t me and my anger get along?

Why was I even born?

If I died how many would mourn?

How can so many believe in a man in the sky,

That you only see if you’re good when you die,

Just because someone told you it was true?

If you only listen to others than who thinks for you?

Why can’t I believe anyone without,

a terrible sense of doubt?

Do animals feel true love?

If not than why can you look above,

And see two rich black crows,

Never separating as there connection grows?

If animals don’t feel undying compassion,

Then why do elephants mourn death in such a fashion?

How can man be greater than beast,

When so many continue to thrive and feast,

On the fear, pain, and death of others,

Including their own friends, kin and mothers?

Is there a reason for my birth?

Am I supposed to have a place on Earth,

And if so when will I find it?

If love is real when will I find it?

If there is somewhere I am needed when will I find it?

If there is something worth dying for when will I find it?

If there is something worth fighting for when will I find it?

If there is a reason for life when will I find it?