I am not especially gifted, nor the genius I declare.
But I admit this only silently so no one else will hear.
I know everything when anyone else is near.
I lack any great talent that would put me on a stage.
I wish I could’ve sucessful. I prayed for my golden age.
I wish I could have been rich, though I did not need much.
Just enough to calm my mother’s fear every day that she woke up.
She suffered uncertanty of how to provide my coming day’s lunch.
That is all I wanted; I would have been like a bird in the clouds.
I wish I had not known my mothers grief, not seen her furrowed brow.
I wanted to make her smile again, make her laugh out loud.
My dreams were fanciful fantasies; they gave me hope and heart.
I sometimes find that being blind is the best way out of the dark.
Witt a hard truth is learnd. Lofty dreams and reality slowy splits apart.
My dilemma was I thought I was I smart enough to know what was ahead.
I thought I could change things, redraw the cards my hand was dealt.
I had to grow wise and truly realize there are some things I just had to accept.
Truth is I am alive; I have survived; though I stake no claim to the reason.
I know I am here in spite of myself, with some sort of strange protection.
I am grateful to Somtheing that saved my soul from another’s deadly deception.
I have strayed in so many wrong ways, yet Something sets me back on solid ground.
It envelops me so lovingly, a blanket of security, a safety I could allow.
A peaceful loving slumber comes and no one can hurt me now.
How difficult am I that I won’t conquer myself, turning back the pain and the hate?
How troubled am I that I can’t recognize I defeat myself with a warped sense of fate?
How weak am I to turn away, to deny myself, and bring upon myself such anguish?
What gives me the right to forfeit my life? It will come to its end on its own.
I smell my deception; I can’t trust my perception, I’ve lost all direction.
So I do it again with no ill intent, I’m not out to hurt anyone one else.
That’s when depression snakes into me, my only pure lonely escape.
My sincerity is still within me; please forgive me if I haven’t shared it with you.
I’ve tossed my dice, I’ve cast my lot, I change what I can, no less.
Bu it won’t mean a thing to those who don’t know, they believe that they know what is best.
It charges at me again and again; my reaction is always the same.
I pick up a hammer and start slamming my brain,
surely this time it will all slip away.
But God forbid, every time I come back and I awake
the truth is still true, the are bruises cover my face.
I haven’t been home, so I make one of my own but I find no solace alone.
Am I of the infinite souls, which God has so gracefully graced?
Or is it just a hopeless hope, kindly sweeping me away?
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