Poems Fall

This letter is finally dead.

All of my style and rhythm is stolen, it's not me

This isn't the way that was when I was three.

I rot the family tree. I will bare no fruit

have no feeling down in the root;

and so, for reference and review

I will write until the feeling is through.

It's become so hard just to find myself, who knew?

But there is a song that is stuck in my head that I write this to,

but, it's fake, I'm a fake and a thief.

It will be my fate until they ask me to leave,

then, I will go. Then, they'll know I should have stayed,

because there's more than a face.

There's a heart in a race because it can't find it's pace.

I need to rebel instead of conform just like I do.

I will buy a phone and wear your shoes,

then this poetry, I will lose. This heart, I will lose.

I have to choose, do I wear a mask?

Does this poem send depression in its cast?

I need to cheer up; I need to disrupt

and enjoy what I have.

So the mask goes back on

and I sit down and write to a song.

This is the end,

and I thank you for letting me inside your head

and the feeling that you lend.