Truth or Truth

A Poem by Dutch Jr.

Do as thou wilt.

First things first, I got some things I need to get off my chest.
While I'm preparing for the worst, hoping for the best,
Understanding that failure is the hinge of my success.
But wait... what's next...
When will life answer all these burning questions?
What am I trying to achieve? When will I learn my lesson?
With each spin around the Sun, the more it seems to take.
The more I try to ease my sanity, the more it seems to break.
Bent, cracked, but not broken,
I'm lacking any presence to take any real notice.
Life's like a chess game, except I don't play to win,
I'm the pawn aiming to be crowned king, and watch my soldiers grow into men.
But what am I to do up 'til then.
Trying to find purpose and meaning in this life of sin.
Full of sincere demons, judgemental angels,
Circumstantial love, just enough to work the angles.
In the balance, is where my future dangles.
Somewhere between a proud nod and a simple head shake,
Somewhere between loving life and eternity in the red lake.
Somewhere between the burden of freedom and the bliss of ignorance,
Somewhere between a schizophrenic and my average temperaments.
Sleepless nights filled with daydreaming experiments.
Maybe I'll jot down another poem to put to waste,
Crumple it up, and bury it under my tear stained pillowcase.
My fears came and went away,
My gears changed, and now I'm here to stay.
My ears went lame, so now I don't hear the hate.
My world is a constant war with social norms.
The calm oceans warn of emotion storms.
The dead of winter warns that a rose is born.
A gray rose without the thorns,
In the middle of a field that was once used to grow corn.
And when spring comes, it'll die, maybe from lack of nutrients,
Or in the hands of the hopeless romantic wondering "why am I doing this?"
I was once told to be the change I wanna see in people.
Well, I'm just trying to be the man me and my conscious can see as equal.
To be the man my foes see as lethal.
To live life as my father's sequel.
To rid my soul of this constant threat of evil.
My potential's all I have left, so I try to keep it bright,
I'm on the low end of an identity crisis, searching though my tears for the guiding light.
Sometimes those tears tuck me in, and rock me to sleep at night,
Sometimes I have nowhere to turn - the only thing I can do is write.
Dreaming of the day everything will be alright.
That's the day I'll stop lying to the man in the mirror, and hope that he'll believe in me,
Enough that I'll end up wherever I need to be.
I swear, sometimes I don't know what she even sees in me.
My frustration with myself only grows increasingly...