Rambling Poet

Being forced to move places, Because I have no control. It shows how stuck I am; How reliant I am; How not free I am. I am seventeen, feels like I could be ten. Holed up in buildings, Like a doll, Kept safe from the world. She may never escape, Her destiny is and will always be this. Only thing she did for herself is missing, The ring she bought with her money, Lost and gone. Goes to show, I own nothing, I have nothing, I am only owned, I am someone’s property. My mother How can she let me be? Without me, She will shrivel and die. I am her sanity, She is my sanity sometimes, When I feel out of it I remember she is here. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t mean it in a good way. She reminds me of who I don’t want to be. And that hurts, Because I love her. I believe she deserved better, But theres nothing for me to do. I am not at fault for her misery, She has been this way, Long before me. I am the thread she sewed, Holding together her ragged face. If I fall apart so will she, Theres no better symbiosis, Except no one is happy. Happiness, strange and foreign, I knew her once, She left me alone. There are others looking for her. I am not the priority. Why must she be so needed? The world is devoid of her. I am devoid of her. I suppose I could ask for her, Maybe she will come, It is not so simple. I have to be worthy, As all have, to own anything. It may not be enough, Some are more worthy than others. A birthright. Stamped in their name. Mine doesn’t have the stamp. Trying to get one, I shot to the stars, Quite ambitious. They say thats good. But have they been ambitious? They have a stamp, They didn’t stamp themselves. It was by others who came before. Were they ambitious? Or simply lucky? Or simply revered? I am not more worthy, I see it now. The stamp missed me in this life, Maybe in another one. She has it, The stamp. Her name has this unique lettering, Common in stamps. Those without tend to be alike. She owns a lot, She has a lot, Well I used to have her, And she had me, But she lost me. On a fateful day, Just like a loose ring. A lot has happened, She went up, I went down. That is how the world works, She was more worthy. How could we work out. Her mind was out of touch, As if others never traversed it. Maybe not even herself. I wished to traverse it, But I see that was never possible. All things have an end, Even the rambles of a Poet.