Our Lives

We struggle to reach

Just what is out of reach

And yet we continue

To bleakly seek

 

We follow the used paths

Laid out before us

Don’t stray, for our

Wants we must suppress

 

You must do this

You must become this

This is who you are

Do not distress

 

You are not allowed

To have your own creeds

To have your own ideas

To have your own dreams

 

It is already planned

As what they see

Forget what you thought

Your life would be

 

You love to write

You love to draw

They are not the plan

They will not befall

 

Do not cry

Paste a smile

Do not mourn

Fake it all

 

Wait, I refuse

No longer shall I be

Your puppet to control

I’m meant to be free

 

No longer a caterpillar

But a young butterfly

I spread my wings wide

And soar the eternal sky

 

Floating on a zephyr

Dipping and diving

I face the world

As my true being

 

I chase my dreams

Like falling stars

I’m no longer bound

To here or far

 

I do as I please

What I was meant for

Pen for the word

Vessel for the sculpture

lifeloverhyme

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Gabe Shelly

Date: 7/9/2013 11:22:00 PM

Art is subjective. No one can say what is bad or good, only what they like or no... I liked your poem. I think the punctuation and spacing is weird, but I like your short lines."Brevity is the soul of wit," says the Bard. Yet, who is the antogonist here? I'm brain-injured so I get confused, but is it 'they'? I have a hard time trying to understand people's poetry sometimes, especially if it's deep. It was easy writing "Death is Knocking at my Door", I've been there. This other stuff not so much.

Toshia Hall
Date: 7/11/2013 9:18:00 PM

Thank you for reading and commenting on my poem. I've spent my entire life being told what I should do with it and how I should do it. In this poem "they" are those who told me this. As for the spacing and punctuation, well I believe that would be me rebelling from conforming to the "typical" way to write poetry. :)