The Struggle
What I expect governs the likes of what I need,
and how I act hold no protest towards how I express my greed.
Watchful of every lingering confession, seemingly under expressed,
protective of the ironic situations in the love I hope between my breast.
My habitual confirmations of what creates my frowns, weighs me down somehow,
lost in the anticipation of the confrontational expectations in what could bring this love around, becomes my showdown.
Lifeless in center core of reality embraced by the motherless impression of the individual who birthed my seeds,
feeling lost the the conventional model styled family and struggling with visual in my dreams.
Listing to the reoccurring thoughts of forgiveness; fighting my lack of child like needs,
forgiving the souls in my third party dealings and letting their regret become my ease.
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