Eggshell Treadmill
A spoken word piece. You might not like it.
I feel things that shouldn't matter
But they do to me, and I don't want them to
Which makes me want to punch a wall
I feel like the world is a treadmill
But I got all turned around
And now I'm standing on it backwards
And don't know which way to run
I'm scared of what's ahead
And I hate what came before
But I've always been the kind
To hang on to the devil I know
The devil in my mind is kind
He gives me art, and makes me think I have a soul
But it's a prop
The truth is, I only know how to be 16 years old
I need to stop and go and grow
And learn to feel for real
I know, I know, I know there's steps to take
But I don't, I don't, I don't take them
I stand up on the sides
And try to find a beat that will match up with my strides
But the beat comes from inside
I can feel it begging to rise
But if I give it voice I lose my choice
I'd rather stand inside a room with thousands of open doors
And just stare at them and ponder
Than go through one
For fear that I might wander off
Get lost and scared
And never find my way back
Whether or not the road's less travelled
Doesn't make it the right track
I'm not even 21, and already I feel like
I'm getting old and running out of excuses
When are you finding yourself
And when are you just failing and losing?
Impostor syndrome gnaws at me
They gave me all of this money
For some reason, that meant something
But won't the second that I leave
And everything I earned
Could look like it was just handed to me
You look at me, and all you see's
A girl that's snow white and soignée
My roots are blue collar
But I talk like a scholar
So nobody notices that almost everything I'm wearing
Came from Walmart
But I want for very little
I'm independent, but I'm not self-made
And I acknowledge that
I'm conscious of it every day
So please forgive me
I don't need or want your pity
I'll just say that if I did
Then who the fuck would give it to me?
Look at me, you're trained to see
That I'm the one with everything
You think I'm on top
But I feel like I'm about to fall off
But I'm just throwing a tantrum
My biggest problem is knowing I really don't have one
If I get stuck, or trip up, it's my own stupid fault
But I am stuck, and I can't reach the emergency stop
(By the way, I'm still on a treadmill
I assume you forgot)
I want to write, but is my writing a vice?
I just whine
And the devil in my mind
Makes it rhyme nice
My work is juvenile
This is the worst one yet
But if the students are consuming
Maybe youth's the best it gets
About the Creator
Violet P. Davies
Words make me feel fulfilled occasionally.
Keep track of me on Insta @purpleproseandposies
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