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16
when I was young I tried to commit
suicide I just wanted to change my life
I really didn't want to die
I just didn't know how to stay alive
too young to know how to cry
it wasn't for me to decide
I had to obey and abide by
the rules that were applied
what would have become of my
young life if I had died
that's a strange question and I
know the answer why
the truth is I was so mad
I wanted to live to see
my parents to die
angry because they gave me life
I use to lay awake in bed at night
and wish them dead
I couldn't sleep
there was no counting sheep
I felt accountable for my fathers
untimely demise
it caught me by surprise
was it a delayed reaction
or some kind of fatal law
of attraction
truthfully I could be in
solitary confinement
being that I was always
criminal minded
something that helped me
from being victimized
nothing could sneak up on me
or catch me by surprise
I was raised by the devil
so it was real easy
for me to see dirty deeds
in a person’s eyes
I am intrigued by
the secret plans of those
who have plotted
my downfall
the unmitigated gall
of it all and the imagination
behind the machination
I'm as swift as can be
knock me down
turn around and find me
standing
it's too hard to expose
how I rose
to those with no understanding
out of pocket
like a plane with no landing
my mind projects animated objects
like I'm sitting on the floor in the projects
listening to gunshots
writing about
sitting in the middle of the ocean
on a yacht
when my life fell apart
I picked up the pieces
put them together
and created art
colored it bright red
with the blood from my heart
looking back to the future
to find what I lost
in the ruins of lost and found
rummaging through hand me downs
tattered rags in torn paper bags
damp cardboard boxes filled with
mildewed doodads
and faded doo rags
in busted plastic bags
unnecessary cargo
is too heavy to tote
it's hard to cast a net
on the right side without a boat
I am... survived by what I wrote
