My Metaphor

My Metaphor

When the world just seems too much,
When there’s so little left to hide
When my humanity has left me
And my load is much too wide,
There’s a special place I go
For me, myself, and I,
A hole of darkness, of despair
Where I’m free to question, “Why?

Without a textbook or a pen,
I analyze my life,
A piece of plastic garbage
That is set beneath the knife
A land without conformity,
Conformed within itself
I grope for words of kindness
And find I give them to myself

A place that’s deep inside my soul,
A constant aching burn
It’s nothing but the salt upon
The wound that I govern
My heart is all-too heavy
With the weight of broken dreams
I crave escape from dark despair
Entrapped in my daydreams

A constant wave of loneliness
Is on my sodden shores,
A knowing that my life is done
Because the world’s a whore
To anything that fits the times,
We fall down to its feet
From prostitution to surgery
Like wounded soldiers in defeat

Without a textbook or a pen,
I analyze my life,
A piece of plastic garbage
That is set beneath the knife
A land without conformity,
Conformed within itself
I grope for words of kindness
And find I give them to myself

A metaphor is now in place
That no one understands
On the loving lie we all believe
Across these barren lands
It is not about a label
Or the writer’s point of view,
It’s putting words together
In a song we all once knew

We want to live a truthful life,
A life without regret,
But isn’t part of ‘wanting’
The part that we don’t get?
When we don’t have our selfish way,
We want it even more,
So push for making differences
To spread out wings and soar

Without a textbook or a pen
I analyze my life,
A piece of plastic garbage
That is set beneath the knife
A land without conformity,
Conformed within itself
I grope for words of kindness
And find I give them to myself

When I’m left hungry and in need
Of human comfort and unrest
When their confusion makes me strong
In the face of their distress
I find myself guffawing
At the sick perverted ways
We make ourselves seem better
Than we were in early days

The pigment of your parents’ skin
Is like our world today
If you don’t do things radical
It isn’t gong to change
What can one small person do
In this society of tarts?
A simple me for you
Can warm the hardest of our hearts

When the world just seems too much,
When there’s so little left to hide
When my humanity has left me
And my load is much too wide,
There’s a special place I go
For me, myself, and I,
A hole of darkness, of despair
Where I’m free to question, “Why?"

Without a textbook or a pen
I analyze my life,
A piece of plastic garbage
That is set beneath the knife
A land without conformity,
Conformed within itself
I grope for words of kindness
And find I give them to myself