Exposed…

The life I chose,
Is now exposed.
The river; The wind,
And their flows,
Juxtaposed.
Eyes;
Drowning in,
Their woes.
Even in my,
Darkest nights,
I still arose.
Through;
Blurry vision,
The world slows,
But never my mission.
Admission of guilt,
Is the only permission,
That’s built;
When your soul,
No longer lives,
In repetition.
I broke the mold
And;
Lit the flame,
Of ambition.
For someone to feel me,
Man; That’s all I’m wishin’.

This flow demented,
My imprint cemented,
Cleaned up my rhymes,
Now they;
Lemon pledge scented.
Blowing steam,
They vented about,
My inventions.
Tell me;
Can y’all feel my,
Rhythmic extensions?
Oh;
Did I forget to mention?
This is all love,
No pension,
There’s no materials,
On the road to ascension.
Freedom writing,
For free;
Open & exposed,
Yo’ this is me.
You’re reading my,
Lifeline;
My heartbeat,
Eyes follow the path,
Behind my feet.
Watch me,
Fall;
Watch me,
Conquer defeat.
Exhale;
Inhale the air,
That I breathe,
From the lungs,
To the trees,
Then slowly gets,
Bled back into,
The breeze.
Life’s hard though,
We all want ease,
Just wanna please,
Like a mouse,
Wants his cheese,
Satisfaction;
The bee’s knees.
I mean who;
Doesn’t want these?
Burnin’ with passion,
I turn up the degrees.
Itchin’ for it; They got fleas,
Court fee’s & case pleas.
Luckily;
I’ve never seen,
Jail bars without keys.
I’ve been given this,
Day to seize,
So your irrelevance,
I sneeze;
Reject it’s presence.
Upon this society,
I’m labeled a menace,
Although despite this,
I don’t seek vengeance,
Hmm; How pretentious.
No one’s wants honesty,
Honestly; It’s an epidemic.
Sugar coatin’ truths,
They been skippin’ the dentist.
Pulling them rotted teeth,
Themselves;
Never was apprenticed.
Used to have no love,
Like tennis in a tempest,
But I’ve enlightened,
Now my spirit replenished.
Mixing up words to,
Structure any sentence,
Guess I’m;
That lyrical chemist.
I’m full of flaws,
But never been blemished.
That’s the;
Promise I’ve premised.

Window ajar,
But I’m still watching,
Stars from afar.
Turning inside like,
The wheels of a car.
Gears of the years,
Grinded me this sharp.
I mean;
Could we truly,
Know who we are?
To be honest,
It’s pretty hard,
Being a somewhat,
Talented artist,
But still believing that,
You’re sub-par.
My personal critic,
With a mind from Mars.
To some he writes poems,
To some he writes bars,
Mostly depicting,
His shattered shards.
Lying upon the ground,
His cracked glass heart,
This the last restart,
Make it count.
Give it all you got,
The full amount.
When my day comes,
I’ll know;
Life without doubt,
And practiced what,
I preached about.
This the last restart,
Make it count.

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