Ballons
A balloon filled with oxygen,
Only ever falls to the ground,
But one filled with helium,
Can fly high up into the clouds,
Without a container to be held in,
Helium would simply disperse,
Into the air around us, we blink,
In a moment, appears a calling curse,
Waiting for the balloon to fall,
For a small hand to let go,
Of the string that keeps it above all,
The ones who look up from down below,
We breathe in and the moment is gone,
We are alone with a ghost-like air,
I take my time as I breathe; I’m not alone,
I hear the broken voice filled with despair,
Like broken chords on a new track,
There are too many to process,
I turn my head, I realise how I lack,
The ability to be a good hostess,
Eyes watch me like I’m a clown,
Why do I serve to these lost souls?
Their poisonous stares still bring me down,
Even though it is nothing old,
I have witnessed their smiles turn to snarls,
Thanks to them I let go of the balloon,
The one filled with helium that belonged far,
Far away from this living room,
I’m sure their respiring is fake and deceitful,
They only move when they gossip,
They watch me fall, laugh as I fall shameful,
One of them places a stern hand on her hip,
She takes a cane from behind her seat,
One I have learnt not to sit in,
She watches me shiver; I know it’s a repeat,
How can this woman put up with living?
Her eyes colder than a miserable winters night,
Her heart much blacker than my skin,
White and black should have equal rights,
Yet I’m her slave, so I daren’t think,
Think of standing up to this lame excuse,
Of a woman, of a human, she is fit for neither,
And her friends, who shout chants of abuse,
Do they plan these things all together?
Which innocent human they wish to beat next,
When to stop dealing out their “duties”,
Deciding which punishment seems to be best,
Watching our black eyes drain out all of their beauty,
My eyes used to be green, but now they’re coal,
They have never had a chance to recover,
My broken ears have forever been told,
That we’re not like the others,
Because of our skin, we are exempt to true life,
We have lived another life filled with whips,
One that has taught us to solemnly survive,
As our truest wish would be to have life bleed from our lips,
We’re done fighting oxygen; we’ve popped the balloon,
We’re ready to give in to a death filled with everything but regret,
Because if life is what exists in this plastic hellhole of a room,
Then we’re done dreaming and we decide to let no future be left…
Only ever falls to the ground,
But one filled with helium,
Can fly high up into the clouds,
Without a container to be held in,
Helium would simply disperse,
Into the air around us, we blink,
In a moment, appears a calling curse,
Waiting for the balloon to fall,
For a small hand to let go,
Of the string that keeps it above all,
The ones who look up from down below,
We breathe in and the moment is gone,
We are alone with a ghost-like air,
I take my time as I breathe; I’m not alone,
I hear the broken voice filled with despair,
Like broken chords on a new track,
There are too many to process,
I turn my head, I realise how I lack,
The ability to be a good hostess,
Eyes watch me like I’m a clown,
Why do I serve to these lost souls?
Their poisonous stares still bring me down,
Even though it is nothing old,
I have witnessed their smiles turn to snarls,
Thanks to them I let go of the balloon,
The one filled with helium that belonged far,
Far away from this living room,
I’m sure their respiring is fake and deceitful,
They only move when they gossip,
They watch me fall, laugh as I fall shameful,
One of them places a stern hand on her hip,
She takes a cane from behind her seat,
One I have learnt not to sit in,
She watches me shiver; I know it’s a repeat,
How can this woman put up with living?
Her eyes colder than a miserable winters night,
Her heart much blacker than my skin,
White and black should have equal rights,
Yet I’m her slave, so I daren’t think,
Think of standing up to this lame excuse,
Of a woman, of a human, she is fit for neither,
And her friends, who shout chants of abuse,
Do they plan these things all together?
Which innocent human they wish to beat next,
When to stop dealing out their “duties”,
Deciding which punishment seems to be best,
Watching our black eyes drain out all of their beauty,
My eyes used to be green, but now they’re coal,
They have never had a chance to recover,
My broken ears have forever been told,
That we’re not like the others,
Because of our skin, we are exempt to true life,
We have lived another life filled with whips,
One that has taught us to solemnly survive,
As our truest wish would be to have life bleed from our lips,
We’re done fighting oxygen; we’ve popped the balloon,
We’re ready to give in to a death filled with everything but regret,
Because if life is what exists in this plastic hellhole of a room,
Then we’re done dreaming and we decide to let no future be left…