my life , my time

Whose time is it? Does it belong to me? Or is it his, the one we never see? Do we share the same time, or is it mine? If it's fixed, like his banks, I'm just borrowing time. A trick, a gun loaded with blanks, weakening my being, not lifting me up. I'm cursed to live in a dream, sleepwalking into a pit, never truly living. My whole life, I've never walked a mile, bound by time's leash, my heartbeat screaming. The streets, like my ancestors, call out to me, "Come, I'll set you free," they whisper, even if just for a minute. But on his time, my light dims. So I purge, deep clean, and claim my freedom, finding substance in my own will. I see through TV screens and Facebook memes, showing me ways to sin, paved with gold and silver. They fill my mind with distractions, so I never pause to think, never question. It's all bait, and I'm the fish, hooked on scrolling, TikTok reels me in, telling me how to live. I break free, move to a place within, where time is mine, defined by me alone. I stop, take a seed, and plant a tree, like my father before me, giving life. With this small act, I thank life by giving life