Sometimes I think I know
Leaving no room to grow
I think, try to control
As my facade upon myself grows
I grasp life with no acknowledgement
I hide the feeling Ive known since infancy
I cover fear with pride and judgement
I am out of control and yearn intimacy
Many of us never turn and open our hearts
Fear of accepting how out of control we are
We try to possess and digest all we can
A replacement for the hole of denial
Stuffing and turning away
Devouring and scrounging
For a sense of power and control
A desperate attempt to break it.
Manipulating, guiltily, forcing, overpowering, hording
What will fill the thirst for control?
Romance, sex, money, drugs
What makes us feel less like a desperate infant?
When we are true to our inner most self
I believe we find need
Need to be loved, nurtured, and fed.
When will you give up the search?
