A Work in Progress

I want my brain to have sanity, for my sleeve to create humanity, for my heart to scream Christianity and for my soul to bleed prosperity.It’s not my fault I eat from the hand that reprimands me or that I’m fainting in the black hole I’m painting. Not my fault that my mind is repeatedly reinstated while the color of my purity has swiftly faded.It’s not my fault the words slip off my lips so gently with a groove, I’m not able to spit them out, my style and agenda’s too smooth. Of all the talons that pierce through me, I now found the epitome of the openwound that only God can see. Even while the expressways in my mind are filled with traffic the ideas and morals are quite fantastic. I bark of “woulds” and “shoulds” and “coulds” as if trying to get something done and accomplished, how the results kind of fester, we lay back at how astonished. Trying to get some heat but the gas won’t ignite it, use your passion they say, oh trust me I’ve tried it. I’m sorry if I know many faces, keep up with the paces, get along with a variety of races,made so that I can consume  then  teach you simply what the idea of taste is, but lately I’ve been thinking I’ll lock all my secrets in not one, not two, but a couple of cases. I’m a bloomer rather than a consumer, I take account of the rivers and streams, I wish everyone would give that credit and let me smile with allmy gleam. I’m tired of waking up, I’m tired of sleeping, I’m tired of all the opportunities constantly beeping. I keep rethinking my future and questioning my past, ‘cause if I cry one more time I’m afraid my existence won’t last. Building on top of building, stacks on top of piles, that’s how the bad keeps coming, the odor is strongly vile. The lightening keeps crackling right between the story of my life, I’m running around asking everyone how to prevail this great strife. My peers continuously saying how I’m the best at what I do, when somebody is profoundly dumbfounded, I know that’s my cue. Mirrors keep looking back me and sand keeps wrapping around, I might become an insomniac in which the walls that I am bound.  The pillows of time cushion my thunderous fall, but when the clock strikes twelve they say I’m the wildest beast of them all. Advantageous in the morning, a restriction at noon, let’s stop this tragedy before I leave too soon.  Unlike others I’m married to the idea that I will succeed, I am the Hercules on top of the hill and with my integrity I shall lead. They say I let my emotions get in the way and that maybe true, but I was taught to thoroughly think all the possibilities through. So this is not a plea or an egotistical cliff, it’s simply whoI am, a musical rift. Not a pull at your strings of guilt or pity, I want you to be understanding, I sew my seeds everyday in a garden that’s just shy from ever withstanding.I study hard, but love harder; I make deals and then play smarter.  One day I’m grieving the friend I once had in myself, next I’m celebrating my personalities’ overgrowing and indulgent wealth. I’m one complex creation of the man above; he created me piece by piece, every part with love. These are my gratifying multiform plights I confess; I declare and acknowledge I’m still a work in progress.

This poem is about: 
Me

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