Questioned

Maybe I ask questions because I’m questioned
maybe I ask because I question being sequestered within a quotient
maybe I ask because some pleas and bargains just aren’t worth quoting
maybe I ask questions within this quotient because legislative quotes deem me as quota
when will my opinion count
when will I be heard
when will I be more than count
living inside of this herd
how can I live to take power from words
when now I live to empower through words
how can I live up, yet kicked down
how can I not give up once let down
how can I impress when compressed, I’m depressed
how can I impress when depressed living suppressed in pursuit of success under a title that sees me as much less yet still striving through too much stress
where was I going with this? so many questions only exist because most answers never satisfy
so many answers only commit to temporarily gratify
is my voice any lesser because I exist inside of my wrongs
is my voice any more impactful for those that long packed away their past
is my voice any more aggressive for those too passive to feel strong
is my voice any less absent since I’m just a post away from being in the past
I live in distance with the promising hope of love
I live caged in yet my promise only peeked hope from me opening up
I live in the connections garnered as a con, so my fall is a pro
maybe you can live more in your pains because in them we’re learning to grow
you can find that the answers are in the questions you ask
questioning instead of accepting helps you become more than a past, the past, and your past
and with that, my last question asked
when will I start seeing my wounds as just scars, and not what I feel you see them as (a large gaping gash)