If we could speak to the spirits that drive
And the passions that keeps us alive
Would you thank or condemn
Them For gifts Or spit on the curse?
That comes in the codes of each forgotten verse.
Like the free that comes while falling through glass,
And pain embedded with the glee
These shards like butterflies with razor edged wings.
To remind the penalty of touching pretty things.
Sometimes they can sting but most often it burns,
But internal death comes only when one refuses to learn.
The scientific term and human formula
To cure a dysfunctional life with,
Accurate methods but incorrect souls
Making wrong inevitably right.
And im not the type to pick a scheme
Of just one color,
Or place a rhythm to my undistilled words.
Be seated in the abode of my making
And tune into the beauty of the fruits
Grown from the disputes,
Of slurred logic and imagination.
And when I do learn to maneuver
Different arts
Of brushes and chords and lyrics that laughed.
I'd cast aside tired leisures
And find a new meaning to familiar diction
I hadn't meant to say the same thing
They repeat in my head
A Significant message that I couldn't solve In,
Lava that cripples in breeze that convolves.
And when I do use
These foreign mediums of expressions
I'd keep in mind to carry discretion
For if the ground melts between my toes,
I need no ones validation
That I'm a powerful girl
Mind to palm
In a space of time that has no peace
And knows no calm
And for the sake of speculation
What would happen to the seas of she ever came alarmed?
So consider at least
What I can do with my arms.
