My whole life's been an uphill climb.
Nothing's ever come easy,
and if it did, it was fleeting
memories dissolving like
icing sugar on the tongue,
sweet for a moment then done.
I'm still climbing.
Never felt like I fit in,
now I know it's because I don't
fit into the plan of those who made it,
still striving to walk the path - I feel God's lament
over my detoured ways,
thinking that I need a relocation,
bouncing between bars.
In between bars I spit my truth;
when I write, all I am is light
fighting my way through cobwebs I've let accumulate.
Perhaps there's no direct path to fate.
But if who I am and everything I create is not enough
to "make it"
then I might as well be dead now,
but I'm not.
I must have more left to do and say,
more left to do and say
on this uphill climb.