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Tainted
Heart
By Manuel Rocha
Art by Wesley Vara
As an infant and to thus' far
-my hearts a content punching- bag...
4- times prison sentenced, divided from one' whole of loved
ones Considered Intermediate.
Not
barbed' wire, but thorns barricade this heart. Stabbed by
reality in life's cloudy codependence, no more beat in this
Heart its hardened.
Proudly
to reckon with resentments not regretting the out comes
of one 3-weeks spun feeling rowdy!
"Angers about to things hectic ".
Chip
on the shoulders a reaction of him or her playing with my
Emotions try'en to get over!
So weather verbal or physical, lets see whose Bolder? I'm
sick my hearts molded decomposed.
Nothing
to lose I'm a solider to a perceived
self-consciousness.
Yet
not the controller to throw away the key among such none-since.
Nothing
is right!
An
orphan solider / most times this life don't make since,
and among Things I hate moms is fake, a biological father
still don't know who he is
Tell This day!
I
hate drugs for making my moms sprung and my biological whom-so-ever
For Neglecting his son!
I hate alcohol for the downfall to my own seed! This hearts
so tainted it doesn't pump blood, it bleeds.
Tainted
as a street punk, who could mend such a heart? For the fact
I'm Down to know luck.
Up
to this point I got no choice; the alternative is drowned
in Depression And spend the rest of my young-life in prison.
No
tears, no complaints its nothing to adapt to that living,
for the Fact I Don't fear to throw these knuckles or voicing
opinion, I do know I Relieve a Lot of stress stepping to
this podium.
It
keeps me from feeling naked, I'm just struggling today to
make to make it, Because only time could tell how far blind
faith gets!
I'm just sick of My Heart being tainted.
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