You tell me I'm stupid,
That I don't know a fucking thing.
You tell me I'm moronic,
Idoit.
You tell me I'm a burden,
This is all my fault,
That I shouldn't even be here at all.
You tell me I'm weak,
I should just give up already.
You tell me these things all and all.
Life.
This choose me, not the other way.
Cards were dealt,
Bones were tossed.
Head built up of,
Jagged pieces and rusty gears,
Broken parts.
How could something so jagged could fit into cookie cutter shape?
How can a round peg fit in square hole?
You have to lose yourself that's so.
Wanted to lose my self,
Disappear in the blur of the crowd,
Disappear in the blur, the taint, the burn,
And forget this head full of broken parts,
Of problems,
Of failures.
Lead me on to be a quitter,
Begs me to the verge, the verge of the edge,
The edge of the ledge.
Life put me through the ringer,
Get up and give it the middle finger.
Go down fighting, and no easy surrender.
Whatever it takes,
Whatever it takes to prove everyone wrong.
Nay-sayers, doubters, who didn't want anything to do with me.
All those who said there was something wrong with me.
Ten years time, thirty under thirty,
You'll see me on the tv, that vague memory,
Of that kid you made clean your floors,
Of that kid who lowered your test scores,
Of that kid you wanted kicked out the door.
I'll set out into the setting sun,
To prove;
The parents,
The teachers,
The principals,
The statistics,
Everyone wrong,
Don't need anyone to believe,
Cause I am who I am,
There ain't nothing wrong with me.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Symptoms
PoesíaPoetry. Love. Happiness. Sadness. Depression. Guilt. Regret. Struggle and Confliction. We may all be breathing, we may all have our hearts beating. But these are our vital signs. These are symptoms that prove we're alive.
