Coming up with this poem was difficult for me
I even nodded off dreaming of Grandma Juanita’s cinnamon rolls
Now I’ve returned to continue with pen
How alive is this new venue I’m in
Outside my bedroom
Loot as a tool -
Too desperate for my blood
Foul eyes dismiss the true you within
“When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on”
Says the USA’s sixteenth president
Many guys and their lies deceive with surprise and when we see it with our eyes a piece of us dies
That’s if they’re close to us
Wake up everybody!
Why are you asleep? You shouldn’t be slumbering!
So you’re not desperate or fraught, just anxious and distressed?
Numerous phonetics but in spite of everything they’re synonymous
When only using your eyes, you’ll assume that having what somebody else has will make you happy
This is when you no longer trust in yourself, are desperate and are running on empty
This turns our souls into rust
In my survival I need not be reliant but dependent upon myself