I count the varied blessings
Dealt out through the lessons,
I subtract the pain
To perceive the drama lessens.
The gutter runs riot of rustics
And phonies spread us dry like raisins.
They claim we transgressing
But the tragedy’s there ain’t no one addressing
The hell we all living
Through. We thriving and we weeded
Time to heal and we all illin’
Time to eat and no one’s feeding.
Young ones are screaming
And nobody’s heeding.
They’re hurt and they’re bleeding,
Open sores and injuries
All over their bodies.
On bended knees, we’re praying
But our situation’s dramatic irony.
Our rejoicing is elegy
Picture us in the ministry of poverty.
None of us is tripping.
My courage will build up my entity,
Create a paradise in this Hades’ territory.
Like an inner mystery
To breathe a new reality
Into a personal niche.
I’ll find ways to put my talent to use eternally.
I’m doing it mentally,
If you can’t picture me, physically.
Until I bring change to the community,
Paste eternity up in the range of society.
As an agent of ingenuity,
Preacher of individuality,
Victim of animosity,
Subject of controversy,
And a staunch disciple of originality.
Always sought an opportunity to be me
Now that I have the prerogative,
I’m through procrastinating,
I’m done with all this hating,
I’m busting through the glass ceiling.