I bore the weight that was never mine to hold, the morning came wrapped in its usual colors, yet I saw only the color gray
I bore the weight that was never mine to hold, I’ve been burdened by thoughts and I let fester these shadows as I painted my own way
I bore the weight that was never mine to hold, yet I believed in the weight of words as these sting an absent care
I bore the weight that was never mine to hold, not from the sound from the meaning I will let within me reside woven my own chains…
I was both prisoner and warden in my cell of thought, those frustration rose like a beast crawling inside demanding to get free
I was both prisoner and warden in my cell of thought, yet I realized no outside force had ever truly imprisoned me
I was both prisoner and warden in my cell of thought, the anger I carried was all self-lit where frames I stroked with my own breath
I was both prisoner and warden in my cell of thought, a fire that needed only my choice to silence to bring its death…
The wound was not arrow, but where I let it land, but I was the one who let it pierce, who let it cut me deep
The wound was not arrow, but where I let it land, a simple moment yet turned it into something dark to keep
The wound was not arrow, but where I let it land, his action was like the arrow but my mind is the place it found its rest
The wound was not arrow, but where I let it land, had I simply pass would I not have fared the best…
I threw them out and I was beyond free, and so today I chose differently and I casted out what was my own truth
I threw them out and I was beyond free, I just let the storm pass over me as the sky breaking open to something new
I threw them out and I was beyond free, I can no longer be bounded by the weight of thoughts that never had to be there in the first place
I threw them out and I was beyond free, I can no longer be lost in the friction as I had written unknowingly…
Watchwords:
Silence was not an absence but a space I had long ignored
Like a quiet harbor within myself where peace had stored
I simply had to let it fade, like the ever-turning tide
A trick of my perception are illusions crumbling from sight
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
