A beam of light passes in through the opening of the curtains and reflects on the chair in which I rest.
I stare at the mess I left on the table the night before, lord knows I like to carefully neglect.
The sun has hardly climbed, clock is barely past seven, yet my step-mother's calling in to share with me the next piece of stress.
Pops has had another heart attack, they have him in intensive.
I'm defenseless and can barely reach a breath.
Scared and leaking sweat, just terribly distressed.
I'm bearing the effects of cherishing and caring for and respecting what's in jeopardy of ending.
The situation, pending.
A never-ending feeling of weakness and inability to rest.

Now I'm feeling blessed though, 'cause they let him go the next day.
Said 'You gotta protect your chest like a breast plate.
Cut out the cherry cigars and eat better.
Respect yourself and don't forget to medicate.'
Set it straight, better make that change.
Break that cage enslaving you.
We all have a song full of melody and rhythm.
Days pass by, whistling a fading tune.
Sailing through the daily groove, but everything around us changes too.
Waiting for an angel to descend to Earth to save us fools.
Play it cool.
Life has a way of sending muck our way followed up by pain followed up by amazing times in cycles.
Grey skies turn to daylight then night glow.
Life is survival and you're the maestro of the show.
Despite the holds, we flow and turn and grow and learn to laugh at the pie throws.
Look past your idols for guidance in certain aspects.
Live till you feel the burn like an ab stretch.
Then share it with the world like a mass text.
No map quest for the address of the destinations unknown.
I propose we all take moments for improvisational poems.
'Cause words can - -

Take us home.
Shape our souls.
Break us down.
Make us whole.
Take us into places that we've never been, for the sake of growth.
It takes a toll, but still we stroll.
One foot, then the next.
Push it, then rest.
Life digs hooks in the flesh.
Pull it, stretch.
Strengthen the roots of the nest.
If we stay rooted in beauty, then we can truly see who to be.
Fluidly moving from where we used to be.
'Cause time supersedes anything we dream and everything we do, still we fight just to be.

I stopped believing in Santa Claus in fifth grade.
Fits of rage when my father let it slip one day.
Vindicated in a way, though, 'cause I was free to misbehave slightly and know there won't be coal for me on Christmas Day.
We all sit with pain at times.
Some do more than the rest.
Forced to connect by nature, faced with change.
We paint the portraits of death, and those of life.
Close your eyes and just imagine that everything's easy breezy as sniping point blank with a Canon.

Take us home.
Shape our souls.
Break us down.
Make us whole.
Take us into places that we've never been, for the sake of growth.
It takes a toll, but still we stroll.
One foot, then the next.
Push it, then rest.
Life digs hooks in the flesh.
Pull it, stretch.
Strengthen the roots of the nest.
If we stay rooted in beauty, then we can truly see who to be.
Fluidly moving from where we used to be.
'Cause time supersedes anything we dream and everything we do, still we fight just to be.