When I thought I was giving up,
pen down,
and all hope gone away.
I find my mind drifting and dashing its way past walls of stupid!
When I feel strong I feel evil,
when I feel weak I feel small.
< I'm a poet! This roller coaster is the in in my pen!>
Blasting off with a hell of a bang!
Daring my toes to push past that line,
feeling millimeter even though there is someone to catch me.
The braceful me feels like "trash",
blissful ignorance like the fact....
I just wouldn't quit smoking for anyone else,
not because I couldn't but beause I didn't care to try.
< If I ever had a bubble of personal space,
there's a little kid poking it with a stick>
I'm hearing that voice of reason again,
comfortable telling me I've got it good,
sometimes I just need to look.
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