The Future is Up To Me

Inspired by my muses, this poem is dedicated to the struggling writer whose life takes priority over their works. This might be a poem I despise, but let me know what you think.

 I met you and through the years, so many years

Countless hours of writing formed my legacy

So many pages, thrown out at a whim.

Oh, how I wanted to love you.

With prose constructed like a sandcastle five feet deep

My eyes hidden behind you

 

You my muse of the moment of destiny

My legacy is lost to me

True though your marks are deep in me the future is up to me

Up to me.

 

Free at last.

 

No longer will I be bound to rules

Rules that for years constricted growth in my maturity

Oh how I wish I could be like you

Be up front and hate like you

But I finally see

 

You are like a smokescreen to my future serenity

But my legacy is not defined by my slavery

The future is up to me

Up to me.

 

Free at last.

 

I can no longer love you

Your eyes are jaded and closed with the loss

Loss of your virginity

But you leave things that are not mine to decide

Up to me

 

You may hate my poetry

Try to leave an imprint on me

My legacy is up to me.

 

Up to me.

 

And so, as I wrote once before

The future is bright indeed

Though my anger’s been tested

I will never be bested, and will fulfill my legacy

My future is up to me

 

Up to me.

The End

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