I called it my home.
Memories in my head roam,
Of the psychotic yells,
Echoing the beat of the bells.

But I try to smile,
Hoping to leave in a while.
And I’m trying to cope,
With this limiting hope.

The boats they mock me,
With their ability to be free,
To sail the oceans,
To a place with no commotions.

But is there such a thing?
Or will there always be that ring,
Of the thoughts that crowd in my head,
That I’m an animal in a cage with no bed.

I want to be free,
With or without the scrapes on my knees.
I leave a piece of me that cannot be replaced,
A piece that resembles me in face.

Soon when I arrive they will come,
And there will be no need to run.
For we will be without the bees,
In the land of possibilities.

I’m on the boat,
Sailing afloat,
Touching the breeze,
Seeing new seas.

Larger it grew,
More I knew,
To be prepared,
I am almost there.

New air I’m now using
Old traditions I am losing.
But no more bees,
And scrapes on my knees.

I’m here.
Shouldn’t I cheer?
But a mountain I must climb,
Before they can clear their minds.

I’m here, I'm here!
In the valley of the free,
With no more bees,
No more scraped knees,
Not in the land of possibilities.