Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Truth... the Korim project.

Don’t ask me where I am going,
But where I have been.
Because that is where my truth lies.
I have lied to myself daily,
Hoping that it will save me.
Only now I have lost me.
Reaching though my vines and branches
To catch a glimpse of my fountain of youth,
But I always evade me.
Don’t ask me my name,
But what my army calls me.
I have stitched tech 9’s to my spine.
Protecting what’s left of my lifeline.
I have been beaten, broken and bruised.
My crown melted down,
hanging down my neck
breaking my royal traditions
being the reminder of who I was
and recalls what I am to my family.
They call me king
Because I built my own dynasty.
Using my dead cells to carve my name inside Mother Nature’s womb.
Spelling “Remember me”,
Because she tries to forget me.
My father puts his arms that control my
Hours and mins around my neck, choking me,
But my breathing is not connected to my lungs,
But my heart and my thinking keeps my life pushing.
So I stand, here pushing through my pain
to be powerful in my master’s hands.
Ask me how many forgotten soldiers
Reside in me.
Why I welcome them in so freely.
Ask me why I let men come inside me.
I hold on to them,
like they are my last bit of salvation,
cause my foundation is cracking,
the glue that I use to hold me together is failing.
They say black don’t crack.
But this skin has been stretched so thin
that my very soul has been brought into question.
These questions have to be asked, so asked me.
These soul searching questions,
because I can’t ask myself.
I have tried.
I do not answer.
Ask me why I will love you more than me.
Ask me why dark rooms scare me.
Ask me why I need people around me.
Ask me why my innocence can't hold me.
Ask me why when I cry it rains, only on me.
Ask me why my light is so dim,
that it makes it hard for you to see the God in me.
Ask me what I think of myself,
the best description I have come up with is a perfect tragedy.
Ask me to forgive myself,
and I might look confused.
Cause I have forgotten how good it feels to let go.
I stopped asking questions because
I don’t understand the answers.
So don’t ask me where I am going,
But where I have been.
Because my destination is never ending.
My beautiful journey is just beginning.
Ask me for my beautiful stories.
Ask me.
Ask me.

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