Tools

The tools of my trade has me running for an outlet to trade all my tools.
Epiphanies don't just happen, they are born from dreams.....wants....needs...
The ever changing present makes me scream for a new future...all while bluffing my way through a hand that others would have folded in long ago. 
The repression of my transgressions allows the bitterness to fester. It seems in the end the joke is always on me as if assigned to constantly play the jester
Making myself look the fool.
The sensation of my own annihilation creeps slowly through my mind.

Creating travesties and thoughtless things to the epicenter of this living.
I know I have been given, the gift of many things to praise and sing and yet I'm still held within the rapture....
My heart beats faster.....I know who I want to become but his work is far from done
Its hard to trust within a cause.
Life's constant disappointments, leave me feeling disjointed as if the sickle cell has won....

I look around within my circle to gather all my wits.....
Trying to find a cause of the effect it brought and why it still lay's unconquered
You could say that the......
Way I came to be, left me thirsty with no water....

In the end.....I am my father's daughter
Hoping to get a reprieve, working with tools I never encountered