Glass.

I went and drew myself as a crime scene.
I moved in with depression.
He made me feel at home.
Until home became hell,
and depression started feeling
more like my enemy than my friend.

I painted a portrait
of who I wanted to be.
I lost it in the fire
when my heart caved in.
I lost the fire to the water
when my eyes just couldn't hold back.
I lost myself to the floor
when I couldn't stand up.

I climbed the appalachains
looking for myself.
I was looking too hard.
I learned who I am behind a microphone.
When my voice roared like a tiger.
When my words stuck right in their hearts.

I seen my pen as a key to the future
I seen my past through the crack in the window
I seen myself in the broken pieces of glass
lying upon my floor.
I had never seen myself before
as true as I was that night
when the snow fell hard
and my mind ran fast.

I hit my weak point.
I hit my me point.
I hit my strong point.

It's not always the broken glass
that cuts you to shreds.
sometimes it's what
you see in it.