An acrostic poem
Are we truly free?
Do we know who we should be?
Does living mean surrender to captivity?
Is trauma our own?
Can we suffer it alone?
There's a demon that needs feeding.
Internally, it's breeding. BUT...
Once our eyes are clear
K(No)w that destiny is near.
We scramble
And fumble the fires we light.
We quench our thirst
With sand.
We do not seek
Anything that is not pleasing to the flesh
We feed our hunger
With smog.
We lie
First to others and then to ourselves.
We soil our souls
In shit.
We say "not now"
To the unspoken voice
sent to guide us home.
Behold the fruit to know the tree that birthed it