The Weed
I am bold, they say. Living life, out loud.
They can't even fathom how much I doubt.
Can't imagine the self conscious monster
that strangles me from the inside out.
Who is this creature
deemed worthy to play a man?
Why am I so scared
to institute process eliminated plan?
Every time I glimpse light
through my calloused, cracked cocoon,
I recoil into my dark solace.
What if I fail, or if it's too soon?
Is life's twilight simply fire's light?
A dying campfire we huddle around?
Chasing shadows of warmth through life's night?
Set standards, as embers, mesmerizing sight?
Dawn that final day bringing only gray.
Not of the hairs of our head,
but years of wasted youth
laying as ashes amongst the dead?
Yet...I sit crippled, in safety.
Rejecting life's sweet tryst.
Tearing at my self imposed prison.
Tired of missing, for what might be missed.
I just want to be.
I just want to be me.
I just want to be free.
I want to be free to be the me that's me.
I will be the weed.
As others park on that even grade,
their measured space in life's lot;
I will fracture earth and stone.
A life learned that can't be taught!
I will choke the stoney pillars
that form the sides of my cell!
I will grow! I will blossom,
before the ringing of death's bell!
My answer to the daily query.....
What are my future plans?
How does this ship sail ahead?
My past is gone.
My future undrawn.
I'm a free man, living!
until they pronounce me dead.
-Angel Fatale-
Copyright © Ryan Tyler | Year Posted 2016
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