Freedom

I find it crazy how they won't give you a brush,

But will a comb.

Steady stuffing all these meds up,

In my dome.

These 2x2 walls keep making me sick,

For home.

Sometimes my mind just feels,

Like a metronome.

Never thought the struggle,

Could be real for me.

Literally shackled my wrists and ankles,

Like 1953.

In solitary,

No choice but to use my mind to be free.

Literally the only thing they couldn't,

TAKE from me.

They took my rights,

They took my will,

They took my little baby from me.

But I'm coming home soon,

'Cause I know she's waiting for me.

Now knowing what it is to stay strong,

And fall apart at the same time.

So just gonna keep writing,

'Till I run outta' rhymes.

-FBS