all i had was my notepad.
been living more
than a couple lives,
trying to keep up
with ‘em all,
jot each word down
while i trip and fall,
the same pages
i’ve been scribbling in
since i was a kid,
solitude was my only friend,
parents in the house
but i was always
running from them,
needed my room
to breathe,
a temporary break
from reality
where they couldn’t
wait for me to leave,
wrote about
my pipe dreams
while avoiding them
smoking the pipe
around me,
then the pipes cracked,
their rocks smashed,
and as the alarms blast,
i climbed out the window,
disappeared in a flash.
and all i had was my notepad.
only way to survive
as i tried to climb
the ladder,
tried to connect
with heads
who left me for dead,
had to understand
the benefits of independence
and lost my senses
in the process,
but i kept on scribbling
just so i could live,
and the greatest tragedy
will be the day
the money flows
off these words
and i’m not here for it,
all the accolades
on my name
that i won’t get
to celebrate,
maybe a case
of self-fulfilling prophecy,
nasty habit i formed
as the ones in charge
turned their backs on me,
a kid all over again
as i learned
what it truly meant
to be lonely.
and all i had was my notepad.
i watched the bombs drop
in my neighborhood,
disconnected from whatever
a family represented,
said goodbyes
to people
i thought i’d have
for my whole life,
ended up in places
i wish i could unsee
and had my whole world
taken away from me,
all because my creativity
wasn’t so easy
to monetize,
and i’ve been traumatized,
somehow, i survived
all because of my pen,
but after all this time,
i’m still the kid in the bed,
dreaming of more
out of life,
stuck between a couple
sides of myself,
long looks in the mirror
but i can’t see
the real me,
staring down these roads
but don’t know where to go.
and all i have is my notepad.
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