For my teacher: Said we couldn't write about a metaphor that no one would understand |
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 |