Feeling used up and afflicted.
Didn’t know it was this hard to get off of a prescription. Suicide by wounds of self-inflicted.
It’s not a substance in my body, but something they forced into my mind.
Got me feeling like I’m always on someone else’s time. A like and a follow, I have to get.
“How are they gonna feel about this fit when I pull up in a bit” Am I doing enough? Too much? Are they even interested?
Invested in someone else’s perception can’t be a real investment.
Losing myself inside of all society's standards.
Always feeling I have to impress all these randoms.
Not realizing 25 years went by so fast.
Worried about how you, you, and you see my Black a**.
It’s a drug that took me a quarter century to break free from.
The only thing that helped me was knowing I’m one of God’s sons.
So, no thank you, I don’t need you to be myself anymore.
I live by God’s principles now. You're not welcome here anymore.
See all poetry for Jermaine Harris #26249-078