Intent

If I spoke truth I could dig and find my memories Buried in leaves or shallow ground, stuck up in trees Or hiding under logs or under stones But they're cold and dirty, bathed in bacterial water Like those old, glass, clouded bottles found in the woods And I don't want them anymore Because I'm not gonna change the past no matter if I choose To focus on what I did and not on what I do Some just get stuck under my shoes And then are simply forced to follow I say that I don't want any part Though I ignore and keep pushing through The lumps I feel in both my arches With each step they're pressing outward until I'm limping It affects my outlook and perspective of the truth And I don't want that because I'm not gonna save that space No, I won't make the room I won't waste another day draining my brain cells on the fumes I'm saving them for something, for the things I plan to do No, I won't live another day as if I'm in my youth No, I won't wait another day to pry them off my shoes