The judges, they laugh, as I trip across their stages
Branding me with the hot irons of insightful rages
I tumble down the stairs as they clamor through my pages
Never knowing what they will find
I pick myself up and dust off the wounded dignity
Catch my breath as I remain in search of some pity
Thinking it’s time to get the hell out of this city
I gather all that is mine
I will not stand for it this time
I found a crying eye deep within the attendance
After she stood trying to avoid my attention
I crinkled my brow as if to portray my repentance
She wiped her eye clean
All I could muster was a bow of my spinning head
Seated on the steps that remained while I bled
I tried to verbalize the facts that I am well read
I was not even seen
As if I were not living
The past should be the past even if you don’t grow
Maturity should be acquired within a needy soul
There has to be place where someone can go
To achieve pure coolness
Now I sift through the pictures that were me yesterday
Wondering how someone would view all my change
Would I be considered for an invite into their place?
Would I still be foolishness?
Do you think I have enough?
