Waste

Smog, not only in my streets but in my brain, my neural pathways Holding weight. Holding weight in my shoulders, in my neck in my core. I run until I'm sore. Still don't know if want to grow or shed This weight, all this weight Look in the mirror accepting , not myself, but the concept that I will Never know what i look like, Never know the weight I really hold Letting go, thats what I say, really hoping for change, one day Fake it, fake it, fake it, Let it go, shed that weight away, Let it go, shed that weight away, Even now the pressure on my shoulders, seems infinite I wonder how will it be when I am old I don’t know what pain is, I don’t know how too much weight feels I better become used to it, I better accept it now, not just the idea Of me changing in a way that keeps me swirling Around a dead end street Not aware I am going nowhere So comfortable on that street, how could I leave now My legs sore from just this street, how will they feel when I reach the next, and the next, and the next I’ll make it, even if I have to fake it, After all those thoughts, I am still here the same, Ultimately, Nothing wrong, Relatively strong, thanks to my sore legs I will never be able to think my way out, But Ill always thank myself for trying Otherwise It was all a waste