I tell myself,
“Be a wreck before you,
leave your bed.
But be calm,
and able.
Disabled,
but strong.
Ring with true emotion.
Like my family didn’t believe in us.”
It’s false.
It’s farce.
It’s crazy,
but load bearing.
Let the poets,
cry themselves to sleep,
as these false thoughts,
turn into steam.
It’s helps them create,
for something more.
Be motivated by some,
never ending war.
The people scratched their heads,
and wondered, is this a prophet here?
A note to the non-believers.
Avoid these thoughts,
as if these thoughts avoided us.
They didn’t wreck us,
as we left the bed.
We are able,
we are calm.
We are disabled,
but strong.
Blissful ignorance,
guide the way.
We do it wrong,
but it’s the way.
It’s true.
It’s tried.
It’s crazy,
but load bearing.
Let the poets,
cry themselves to sleep,
as these false thoughts,
turn into steam.
It’s helps them create,
for something more.
Be motivated by some,
never ending war.
The people look,
through the doors.
See this never ending war.
It’s self inflicted,
but it’s the way.
You can’t just pray the thoughts away.
It is tried and it is true.
They don’t understand you.
I breathe this in like the plague,
be awake in my darkest day.
I create something new,
and I started wondering,
could I profit here?
