Weight

There’s still a weight I carry on my chest
It crushes me while making it harder to breathe
I use words as my arms to lift it
But anything I write only gives a moment’s relief

Now I’ve written more than I thought I could’ve
Yet I feel like there’s so much more for me to say
But when I grab the pen and pad I fall silent
Like I had somewhere to go but got lost along the way

Am I missing on some lonely path inside of me?
Or having a hard time finding a road that’s been there
In a silent forest that still leaves my head ringing
I keep walking for a purpose I forgot and no longer care

I could write a poem about love or how it hurts
Write about being lonely wondering what its all for
I could write punch lines to sugarcoat the pain
But in the end it’d be something already heard before

It doesn’t matter if there’s a happy, or sad ending
When one story ends another one has already begun
Always looking for the next best, or just anything
But the words only create some sort of bland rerun

There seems to be nothing new to add to society
My two cents match what’s in any other pocket
My plot is different but it’s basically the same story
A kid trying to hold onto his conscience only to have lost it