It's a broken Hallelujah that reigns over my lips,

Singing praises to something I can't prove exists.

They're like tape,

Holding me together while confining the mind I really want to speak.

They don't know who I really am:

What story has been carved into my skin;

What fate has been stamped onto my soul like a barcode,

Labeling me for the rest of my days;

Like an expiration date,

Marking me for my time to give it all up.

They don't know who I really am.

They imprison me on a path of shards,

Cutting into me with every wrong move

And bleeding out the wonder and inspiration to leave behind a skeleton of ignorance.

They stick labels to me as I crawl past

Until I'm crushed under the weight of stereotypes and expectations;

Of dream big but don't stray from the path;

Of forget the road less traveled.

They chain me down with cold bonds,

Tie me to my destiny where I shine with perfection:

Bright enough to hide my scars;

To hide the Hallelujah that strangles me into praising my demons and loving my nightmares.

I am born with a silver spoon in my mouth,

But a script in my hand,

A path of shards in front of me.

They don't see the shards I take with me though:

The blades of insecurity that hug my skin and thoughts.

They are blind to my imperfections,

To the blood that runs from my own mind;

And deaf to the song I sing:

The broken Hallelujah my heart screams.

They ignore the pain,

Walk past the shell that was me and accept the prize I won:

The empty reward.

But it isn't till I'm gone;

Till my words run dry and brittle;

Till my mind has bled out;

Till my heart can sing no more that they realize:

All that glitters is not gold.


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