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letra de primer - serene envy

there’s days i need to step out of the margin, get out of this carcus
i call a body, let out the artist that falls in probably awkward off beat
situations, hits her face and gets up, doesn’t realize thats there’s blood
running down her lips, she feels like a bare spud
a flower without leaves or petals
a stem for legs, the scaring on her knees are several
she gets in bed
staring at the ceiling pattern, not caring that her dreams are shattered
not daring to believe in matters, scared, decides to breathe in rather
slowly, inhalation, depression, needs a dim replacement
to saturate her need for happiness, she lives degraded
she thinks of making it big, her name in lights
she grinds but never sees growth, following the same advice
that works for others but failed her
she tried to fly but only managed to produce a stale chirp
now she can’t fly or communicate with others
she forgot her old language and the universe is stubborn
to accept her as she’s reflected, the music lets her cover up
her depression, defects and allows her to express sins
its the closest to acceptance she’s ever been
she hopes to repress them, she knows that she better live
she better not be stripped anymore, all that’s left is skeleton
the melanin in her skin has faded, all she has is the h-ll within
her mind, nerves, bones, bloodstream, and finger tips
she finds words shows what she has to live with since
she was born, scorned, torn, severed born
the loss of her sanity, spirit, and soul was never mourned
buried alive she was, mary replied with what?
her son has a plan for me, ok, maybe i didn’t like it but
i guess it happens for a reason huh? my knees are numb
4:30 am, still awake, still awaiting to meet with jesus’s son
i speak in rhyme, cursed i am, divided since the words began
to flow out of me, growth sprouted seeds, never meant for worship fam
people confuse praise with poise, evil induced to make some noise
i’m not a girl who flaunts her character, never played with make up toys
never played with other kids, never made a hundred things
list for santa to bring me, he was busy with the other kids
i wasn’t being watched, i was the planted seed for hate
the scapegoat of all your troubles, destined to be your demon’s prey
expecting me to be okay with your discrepancies and need to hate
me for everything i seem to say, many think i need to break
my existence but if i buried myself six feet under
i’d still be the foundation you walk on, skip, leap, stutter
since we utter things without contemplating the consequences
from now on i’ll join in often stating what i thought repressing
would be the better choice
but apollo gave the gift of poetry to me and now i’m set to let my voice
cruise and disintegrate my views, as i live in grave states of anxiety
how i refuse to depict my fate and everything that i should be
and let society decide for me, decipher what i’m used to now
mind blown, demoralized, a sniper gun diffusing rounds
i can’t hear my own thoughts
peer pressure, fear spreads worse. my ear was blown off
walking in footsteps that weren’t made by me
repeating the same mistakes the owner committed anciently
addictions chasing me, anxiety spreads
trying hard to find peace, instead i found pieces of me scattered in the heads
of people who listen to my music
of people who’s religion is influenced by the descriptions of the cool kids
trying to be different in a world view that changes constantly
trying to be more than just a girl who was raped subconsciously
trying to be something i’m not set up to be
trying too hard to live, not trying hard enough to breathe
not getting far enough for me to sit back and relax
i’m an artist stumped, i live laugh and relapse

- serene envy

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