War by Matasha Y. Lee
Straddling at the fence of life,
One foot in the direction of what I was brought up around,
the other just trying to get away,
And so desperately I stomach to endure,
While, I sit with a notepad and pen, microphone and voice, magazine and thoughts,
Trying to tune out the madness that I have created,
Only wanting to be here,
But not able to afford to stay,
Time stops and that is when I take my chance,
I sing behind close doors,
Write masterpieces on napkins,
Create stellar pieces of art with clothes,
My talents and gifts shine so beautifully,
Then the madness convinces me to enter back in,
I prow myself from my true identity,
To play with life's demands,
Not happy and unsatisfied because Im not making enough to stay in dream land longer.
Why does hunger birth the idea of wealth
And richness is found when time stops,
Not when it clicks;
Not when the jazz player prepares
But when he plays?
Why must my heart feel so rejected
To feed the thoughts at play?
Oh, yum of the earth, with your delight at satisfying men's needs,
I ask you to fulfil my desire
Of ending the war that is within me.
End the screams and tears that press their way out of me that wants me to hear them,