Defining Reality

Is what I see truly my reality? 

My life has been seventeen years of total depravity.

Why didn't I have this, that, or the other? 

I was missing the love of a father, hugs from a mother 

Those voids, I thought couldn't be filled by any other.

Does my future mean something or is it full of triviality?

How can I continue to not be filled with irrationality?

Poetry.

My escape can be found in the humble pen and paper,

With these tools I elevate myself to the level of a skyscraper. 

I am closer to the clouds up here.

At this height, spoken evil can't fill my ear.

The sound of my pen is all I overhear.

My pen is my friend

It never lets me down.

In my times of trouble, poetry is always around.

When times are hard I keep going.

When I feel that I'm about to faint

My pen lets me know I should keep going.

My pen is my comforter.

What I see is my reality, no matter how bleak.

However, my pen has shown me great things 

And put me on the path to university.