YEARS

I sat in the same place for years, waiting for the train carrying all the gold to come in; they told me that I would never win and that you are not like them, so I was living a life that was only yours in sin they keep shutting the doors in my face. Still, a new one will open, so I look at the bastards in their beautiful little eyes that lie in on their lying faces, knowing that soon I will get out of this place.

I'm tired, but I'm not broken with all these years on my head, and walking with the dead, I became a little more spoken, fighting for what is mine, crossing that made-up line. I look in the mirror and hear ancient voices tell me I'm doing fine.

I have been sitting still all these years, being everyone's whipping boy, putting my peace and joy aside, not living, just getting by and surviving. I say no more of this bullshit, so I'm not waiting for the train; I'm not keeping my head buried in the sand, so once again, I look at my demons square between the eyes and say, here I am. You can no longer beat me, so sit back and watch me rise to the freedom that I deserve and missed all these years.