"21"

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A poem I wrote when I turned 21:

The crevice of my soul,

So black and bold.

So effortless to mold.

So cheap, it isn't sold.

I hold it close to me.

Like a poker hand I see,

Like a low-hanging tree.

I'm the only one that doesn't flee,

When my true self comes to be,

And steps out of that shadow.

I just can't be saddled,

Looking at the other cattle.

Can't seem to win the battle.

When who I am is rattled,

Can't find ways to abate.

When you have no soulmate,

How can life be great?

How does experience rate?

How can I trust in fate?

It just leaves me breathless.

I find insanity in bliss,

And no mirth in all of this,

I lose the magic of a kiss,

Now I know I won't be missed.

I just can't feel anymore.

Like my mind is just a sore,

Mental wounds open the door,

Floods of sadness begin to pour,

Because I can no longer store,

These heavy thoughts inside.

And the world just won't abide,

Like I'm alone on my own side.

On a long and lonely ride.

Can't help but realize we lied,

When we said we'd always be there.

And now I can't help but stare,

When I see love that's bared,

In the open like a flare.

And burning life into the air.

It just isn't fair...

That's life.

Pain and strife.

Insanity alight.

An endless plight,

That's never right.

No end in sight.

An endless height,

Won't be reached through flight.

The darkest night,

With no starlight.

A giant blight,

We just can't fight.

Hold on tight,

If you have the might.

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