Obsessed
My mind's a bit obsessive,
And I have never learned the lesson
As to how to shut it down
Before I wear myself thin and hit the ground.
The order it demands
Is a straight-jacket on my hands.
Rarely can I find peace and rest
In the midst of the scream to be my best.
The rhymes were like new wings,
Gave me vision, and escape from the things
That held me in a prison of obsession
Now as to what I want to do I can answer the question.
They said "Freedom in art."
It's true, I wouldn't have made it this far.
My pen..it is me disorganized
But there's true me in the tangled mess of rhymes.
Now I found freedom in my words,
But there's a fear that I will never be heard.
No one has ever read this,
Because I know it is me not at my best.
This crazy, uncontrolled me that is poetry,
I hope I'm brave enough for her to become my reality.