I am old now so, I think a lot.
I am the one the world forgot.
I sit in my dark room.
Waiting for my impossible groom.
Is this my lot?
I should hope not.
I do think a lot.
I toss and turn my spirit does burn.
I yearn yet churn.
I toss at night. Tense fear of what comes hence.
The light at the end of the tunnel has all too often been a hellish funnel.
There is no summit to the danger when I plummet.
There is no net for me, only a bet for me.
When I die tortured tears will they cry?
Sounds of relief for what they were bequeathed.
My place in this world is the one I made for me up my hanging tree.
My responsibility to be fully me.
I sit in my dark room counting my mistakes.
Never taking short mental breaks.
planting seeds that will not grow and I instantly know.
I sit trying to right wrongs I did not commit.
Convicted of crimes I only predicted.
I watched the truly guilty spin and sin.
Their numbers are great that's how they win.
I may be small and up against a wall.
But I will stand tall.
I will fight and argue with them all.
Yes, I am White. White is not always right.
About the Creator
Jeff Johnson
I am that late bloomer that decided to follow his passion late in life. I live for stories that are out of bounds, unusual, and beyond normal limits. I thrive on comedies, horror stories, and stories that tug at your heart.
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