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Been down, trying to figure it out for awhile now,

playin stupid games givin myself the run around.

excuses excuses,

get up and go do shit,

draggin and saggin, that's just not what's happenin.

Being young and famous you see I tried to make a pact when,

I was about 16 I had everything on track then it all wen't tragic.

Mind got fuked up and everything changed,

shit became different I started to feel pain,

began not to care cause my heart won't the same.

Got influenced and i tried not to do this,

wasn't mislead, but my thoughts weren't conclusive.

Over the years I became a little anti,

social anxiety I wish I could, but I can't lie,

you keep telling me I didn't, but I promise you I did try.

But people have no clue,

about all I once had and all I wen't through,

some said they love me, but I felt like fuck you.

A little animosity towards someone I knew awhile ago,

animosity I didn't show, it couldn't leave so it just growed

I grew into it then it shielded me like stone,

completely unfocused so my mood is unknown,

On my knees every night begging God to send me home.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage: 


but a good angsty rant. You have a great sense of rhyme, meter and the musicality of language.

Mind got fuked up and everything changed, [fucked]
animosity I didn't show, it couldn't leave so it just growed [growed?]

Some of your caesuras need punctuation

Neopoet Directors

... who will tell you I didn't like this one. The hip hop feel to it simply can't appeal to my traditional senses. But I'm sure you'll write more for me.
Jess and I both have suggested that you look into the rewarding field of "punctuation", but may I say also "proofread"? There are a couple of lines here that are missing words. I.e. "began not to care cause my heart won't (be) the same." Most of these come from typing to fast as you compose. Still like your other stuff, but this one I couldn't put my head around.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Thanks for the critique, I know I really need to work on my language and puncuation

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