Life is Me

The world said, Go home and write You hate and love tonight And let that page be you Then, sympathy will be true If nature was simplistic peace would exist I am 16, colored, borin in Los Angeles California. I attended school there forever. I am the only true surgical future. The doorway conceives from home and travels through space-time Through my neighbors dirty smelly home Through the streets where death is engraved on the pavement Through the park where my father exercises his anger on the field Through Aspire Pacific Academy the place of change and adaptation Through the bus, a place of unconsciousness and a time of reminiscing the past To my home, up to my room, sit down, and write this page: Arduous it is to know what is true for you or me at 16, my age. I am constituted purely of what i hear, and see, Los Angeles, I hear you: Hear you, hear me, we, you talk this page. Locked away forgotten for a long time. Me-who? Well I like to sleep, dream and eloquently play music to the ear. I like to see and believe with my eyes contemplate the reality of my visions, even when I'm bewildered. Food is a passion, a feeling of happiness and togetherness when surrouned by love or CD's- Atreyu, Avenged Sevenfold, Disturbed, anything with a hardcore touch of invincibility. I guess being maniacally obsessed with cutting someone suturing them together makes me evil but NOT like others who's intent is to inflict pain I want to heal. So will my page be sewed up together from pieces? Being me it will not be sewed up but together we are one you are me and I am your doctor that's a surgeon sometimes perhaps you do not want to heal me nor do I want to heal others but i do I learn from you, you learn from me Although you are successful and arrogant, a doctor, you are selfish.